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MARY ’N’. MARY 


LIBflARY of OGNGRESS^ 

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Copyright, igo^ 

By Dana Estes & Company 
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MARY ’n’ MARY 


COLONIAL PRESS 

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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

1 . 

Lost, Strayed, and Stolen 




PAGE 

II 

II. 

Dividing the Bossy . 




20 

III. 

Mary Merington's Garden 

• 



30 

IV. 

Mary Murray’s Garden . 

• 



39 

V. 

“ Mary ’n’ Mary ” 

• 



50 

VI. 

Speaking of Snakes . 

• 



59 

VII. 

In the Poultry Business . 

• 



67 

VIII. 

Babes in the Wood . 

« 



76 

IX. 

The Man Who Ran . 

• 



86 

X. 

The Field -hospital . 

« 



98 

XI. 

Larry 




no 

XII. 

A Birthday Coming . 

• 



121 

XIII. 

The Birthday Morning 

• 



131 

XIV. 

The Birthday Party . 

• 



142 

XV. 

Found — Where? 

• 



156 

XVI. 

The Stormy Night 

• 



164 

XVII. 

A “Spunky Child” . 

• 



172 

XVIII. 

Not Mary Murray, at All! 




182 

XIX. 

Molly Burton’s Story 

• 



192 

XX. 

Really Truly Twins . 

• 



201 




FULL - PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Mary ’n’ Mary . . . . . . Frontispiece 

“When they laid him down in the path, he 

CRIED out” • . .90 

“ He sat with his back against the wall” . 149 








MARY ’N’ MARY 


CHAPTER I. 

LOST, STRAYED, AND STOLEN 

Cross, — oh dear, yes, cross as two sticks ! 

Brown eyes can look the crossest of any eyes, 
when the brows above them are all puckered 
into fierce little scowl wrinkles, and the mouth 
below them is pulled 'way down at the corners. 

Mary Murray's eyes were just the 
color of a ripe, shiny horse-chestnut, 
just dropped from its burr into the 
curly, crackling, October leaves ; and 
with her pink cheeks, and her dim- 
pled chin, and her splendid mass of wavy, red- 
brown hair, she was usually a very pleasant child 
to look at. But on that hot June afternoon, as 



12 


MARY MARY 


she trudged up the dusty lane, carrying a pail 
that was much too big for her, she scowled 
discontentedly, and scuffed her bare toes in the 
dust, and grumbled to herself, till you might 
have been almost frightened to meet her. 

‘‘ I hate that old calf! Wish 
there wasn't any calf! Just 
drinks and drinks the whole 
time, and I have to carry all 
the water. The boys might 
do it sometimes. This pail 
is too heavy — Fm going to 
pour some out." 

She stopped, tilted the pail, 
and let the water trickle over her dusty little 
feet. 

It felt cool and pleasant, and presently the 
dusty feet looked so nice and clean that she 
stepped out of the dust and walked carefully in 
the roadside grass to keep them so. 

The pail was not much lighter, perhaps, but 
it had taken Mary's thoughts away from her 
troubles, and the puckers in her eyebrows began 



LOST, STRAYED, AND STOLEN IJ 

to smooth away. She even felt a little sorry 
about the bossy ; she felt almost as though her 
crossness might somehow do it harm, or bring it 
bad luck ; and she began to half take back her ill 
wishes. 

‘‘ Good enough bossy, I suppose — but he 
does drink an awful lot of water ! He's funny, 
though," and the last of the scowl wrinkles were 
giving way to some other, smile wrinkles, as she 
turned the corner of the lane and thought how 
the bossy would jump about at the end of its 
tether and baa for joy, when it saw her coming. 

Really she loved that bossy dearly. She would 
have cried her eyes out if anything had happened 
to it. But the pail was heavy and the sun was 
hot, and she wanted to be back, playing in the 
gravel-pit with the other children. So perhaps 
it was natural she should feel a little cross, though 
she did not look like a pleasant child as she came 
up the lane. 

The bossy was tied by the roadside because 
there was no grass for it to eat at home. As 
you went down the lane you passed first the big 


14 MARY ’n’ MARY 

barns and sheds that belonged to Mr. McGowan, 
the contractor, and then some vacant, gravelly 
land, all overgrown with weeds, and the gravei- 
pits, where Mary loved to play. Then came the 
little shabby old house, where Mary Murray and 
all the other Murrays lived, and a few more 
cottages like it, with plenty more children in 
them, who loved the gravel-pits, too, and played 
and quarrelled in them all day long. 

There was no green grass about the houses, 
nor anything else that was pretty. All the 
ground was trampled and dusty, and wherever 
there was room grew little, straggling patches of 
potatoes and cabbages. 

So up the lane and along 
the open, grassy road that it 
led into was a pleasant walk 
for Mary Murray when she 
was not cross. Every morn- 
ing she led her bossy up and 
tied it under some tree by 
the roadside, where it could eat grass and lie in 
the shade ; and twice a day she brought it a pail 



LOST, STRAYED, AND STOLEN 1 5 

of fresh water, and came once more to lead it home 
at night. 

It did seem as if the boys might have done 
some of this, — for there were plenty of boys in 
the Murray house ; but they had a great many 
things to do out of school, — baseball, and swim- 
ming, and berrying, and all such things, — and 
really it was much easier to make Mary do it. And 
Mary loved the bossy, and did not often complain. 

She came out of the lane, now, and turned 
toward the maple-tree, under which she had left 
her charge that morning. 

There was no bossy there ! 

Away went the last of the scowl wrinkles ; 
astonishment and fear and grief all mixed together 
and chased them out of sight in a twinkling. 

Mary dropped her pail and ran to the tree, as 
if she hoped her eyes were mistaken, and she 
could feel the bossy if she could not see it. 

There was the rope, still carefully tied as she 
had left it — but the rope was old and frayed, 
and it had parted in the middle ! 

Where was the bossy now ? 


1 6 MARY ’n’ MARY 

So grieved, so frightened she hardly knew 
what to do first, Mary looked up, then down 
the road. At last she set off running, calling 
“ Bossy ! Bossy ! ” in a trembling voice, and with 
tears running down her cheeks. 

For a little way there were no houses, only 
broad green fields with fine old oaks and elm- 
trees here and there, and it all belonged to the 
big, rich Merington place. Then came the lawns 
and shrubberies that surrounded the house. 

When she reached the high 
iron fence in front of the lawn, 
Mary Murray stopped running 
and glanced in, — not because 
there was any chance that her 
beloved bossy would be there, but 
just because she always did so. 
She loved to see the velvety grass 
of the lawn, and the long beds of 
bright flowers beyond, and to catch glimpses 
of wonderful people in beautiful dresses, on the 
wide verandas and in the big, ‘‘ baskety chairs ” 
under the trees. 



LOST, STRAYED, AND STOLEN 1 7 

The “ fairy ladies,*' as Mary called them in 
her thoughts, were very wonderful ; but the per- 
son she most loved to see was the 
“ fairy little girl," a child just as big 
as herself, who always wore fairy- 
like, white dresses, and lovely rib- 
bons in her long, dark hair. 

There she was, now ! Mary had never seen 
her so near before. She was alone on the grass 
in the middle of the lawn, and as Mary looked 
her eyes sparkled through the tears, and she gave 
a cry of joy ; but it was not* for the fairy little 
girl, — she scarcely looked at her at all. 

Her bossy, — her precious, lost bossy ! 

There it stood happily cropping the clover in 
the short, sweet grass, and the fairy child held 
the broken old rope in both her little white 
hands, and followed the calf as it moved, brows- 
ing, over the smooth turf. 

Near by, the great iron gates of the drive were 
standing open. Mary Murray dashed through 
them, and flew across the grass, without a thought 
of fear of the strange, grand place, straight to 



MARY ’n’ MARY 


l8 

her bossy. She snatched the rope from the 
other child's hands, and threw both arms about 
the calf's neck. 

My bossy ! What are you doing with my 
bossy ? " she cried. 

It's my bossy," said 
the other child, calmly. 
She was astonished at the 
sudden attack, and her face 
flushed, as she stood ready 
to defend her rights ; but 
her soft gray eyes could 
not flash fire like the 
chestnut brown ones that 
blazed at her over the surprised bossy's head. 

“ This is my bossy ; I found him in the road, 
and I am going to keep him. I think you must 
be mistaken," she said, politely. But Mary 
Murray broke in, fiercely : 

‘‘ You stole him — you stole him ! He's mine 
and I'm going to take him right home ! " 

Then indeed the gray eyes lighted up with 
wrath. Stole him ! Two little white arms went 



LOST, STRAYED, AND STOLEN 1 9 

round the bossy’s neck from the other side, and 
if that bossy’s head was not pulled right off then 
and there it must have been because bossies’ 
heads do not come off easily. 

The children pulled fiercely from either side, 
both crying, both scolding, and between them the 
bossy, very much astonished and disturbed, braced 
its feet wide apart to keep its balance, and baa-ed 
a loud protest. 

Just at that moment, a lovely lady in a beau- 
tiful, trailing, white dress, stepped out on the 
veranda of the big house and looked across the 
lawn. What she saw was two children closely 
embracing a pretty calf, and she smiled and said 
aloud, “ What a pretty picture ! ” But at the 
same moment she heard the angry voices, and 
saw how the poor bossy was being pulled about. 

It was not a pretty picture — it was a battle ! 


CHAPTER II. 


DIVIDING THE BOSSY 

The lovely lady caught 
up her long, white gown 
and ran down the broad 
stone steps. She hurried 
across the grass, calling as 
she came, ‘‘ Children ! Chil- 
dren ! — Stop ! Stop ! Mary, 
what is the matter ? 

The children paused, 
wild as they were with 
anger and excitement, as she came up to them. 
Neither would give up her hold on the disputed 
treasure, but they turned their flushed and tear- 
stained faces toward Mrs. Merington ; and the 
child with the gray eyes began to explain so 



20 


DIVIDING THE BOSSY 


21 


eagerly that her words tripped over each other as 
they hurried out. 

“ It's my bossy, mamma ! I found him in 
the road, and I'm going to have him for a pet 
because my dog is dead, and I shall tie a blue 
ribbon on his neck and lead him. He's so beau- 
tiful, isn't he, mamma ? and he's not hers at all, 
for I found him myself!" 

Mrs. Merington saw how it all was, and she 
almost laughed ; but she said, very quietly, 
“ Come here to me, Mary." 

Both little girls started to obey her, although 
Mary Murray did feel a moment's surprise that 
the “ fairy lady " should know her name. But 
she could not give up her bossy, even for a 
moment, and she still kept one arm tight around 
its neck as she approached. 

Mrs. Merington put her arm around her little 
daughter. 

‘‘ There, there, dear — hush ! Stop crying, so 
that I can understand you." 

Then while the child struggled to calm herself, 
her mother turned to the stranger, who stood her 


22 


MARY N MARY 


ground and looked back at her bravely, angry 
and anxious though she was. 

But the lady did not look angry ; she even 
smiled in a friendly way, and held out her hand 
to draw her nearer. 

“ What is your name, little one ? ” 

“ Mary Murray, ma’am.” 

“What, — both Marys?” the lady laughed. 
“ Why, no wonder the poor bossy does not 
know which he belongs to ! ” 

Mary smiled in answer, — a little, doubtful, 
^ anxious smile. “ But he is my 
bossy ; he knows he is,” she pro- 
tested. “ He’s my very own, 
and his name is Mike.” 

Then the lady began to ask questions, and 
while she talked she held Mary’s hand and 
smiled at her ; and Mary began to feel soothed 
and happy, and to love the fairy lady very much. 

Soon the whole story was told, and in a very 
little while it was all made straight. Mary Mer- 
ington was brought to see that the bossy belonged 
to the little girl who had lost, not to the one who 



DIVIDING THE BOSSY 


23 


had found him, and with many wistful parting 
pats and strokings she consented to let Mary 
Murray lead him away. 

But Mary Murray was not happy. She had 
triumphed, — she was free to take her dear bossy 
home ; but now she had all and the other child 
nothing ! She felt in her own heart all the sor- 
row of seeing it led away, down the road and out 
of sight, — of not having it any more ! and she 
could not bear to leave things so. 

She went close to Mary Merington and spoke, 
shyly but kindly. ‘‘ If I had two bossies,” she 
said, I would let you keep one of them.” 

But Mary Merington only gazed sadly at the 
one bossy that she could not keep, and said 
nothing. 

Then Mary Murray*s generous heart over- 
flowed. She could not keep the bossy all for 
herself, though it was only one ! 

“You may have half of him,” she cried. 

Mary Merington looked at her in questioning 
surprise. 

“ And you may choose which half,” she went 


24 


MARY 'n' MARY 


on (for generosity is a flower that grows and 
blossoms wonderfully fast, when it once begins 
to grow). “ And you may come and play with 
your half every day ! ” 

Mary Merington began to smile. She looked 
at her mother, who smiled and nodded, well 
pleased with Mary Murray, and then at the 
bossy, who was nibbling grass quite unconcerned ; 
and then she threw her arms about its neck and 
hugged it. And Mary Murray put her arms 
around from the other side, and they smiled at 
each other over the bossy’s head. 

After this, everything was easily settled. Mary 
Murray was to tie it always on the side of the 
road nearest to the big 
house, and Mary Mering- 
ton was to come every 
morning to see him drink 
the water which Mary Mur- 
ray brought. And every afternoon he was to 
nibble clover behind the iron fence ; also, after- 
noons, he was to wear the blue ribbon. For 
when it came to choosing halves, choice proved 



DIVIDING THE BOSSY 


25 


to be impossible. Two big, soft ears, — two big, 
dark eyes, — four pretty, white feet, — all these 
were easy to divide ; but only one little, moist, 
black nose, and only one funny, wagging, white- 
tasselled tail, — how could they choose between 
them ? 

Then Mary Merington had a bright idea. 

“ Let’s divide the day, instead of the bossy,” 
she said. “ He is yours in the morning, and 
Til come to visit him; and afternoons he’ll be 
all mine, and you’ll be the visitor.” 

And so it was settled. 

Mamma said nothing to all this, but she 
listened and watched the children. They were 
so friendly and eager now, — so generous and 
fair in their plans, that she had not the heart to 
spoil the pretty scene by grown-up caution. She 
silently made up her mind to find out all about 
Mary Murray and Mary Murray’s family, and 
if she proved to be really “ as nice a child as she 
seemed,” to let these pleasant plans work them- 
selves out. For it had occurred to her that this 
quaint little pair, — Mary Murray and her bossy, 


0.6 


MARY ’n’ MARY 

— had walked up the road and into her life for 
a purpose, and that she must welcome them and 
make friends with them, for her own Mary’s 
sake. 

Mary Merington had been delicate all the 
spring. Her cheeks were pale and she drooped 
a little, so that her mother worried for fear of 
round shoulders. But when the good old family 
doctor was called in to advise he found nothing 
very wrong about her. 

“Turn her out to grass,” he said. “Take 
her into the country and let her run wild. 
That’s all she needs, and it’s better than a drug 
store full of tonics.” 

But the difficulty was that Mary Merington 
simply wouldn’t run wild. She didn’t know 
how ! 

She was gentle and docile, and did her best to 
please her mother by playing out-of-doors, but 
how could one little girl run and romp and shout 
all by herself? Wheeling her great doll in its 
carriage was pleasant but not very lively exer- 
cise. She played dutifully with her shuttlecock. 


DIVIDING THE BOSSY 


27 


but soon tired of doing it all alone. Her little 
dog had been her best companion, always ready 
for a race; but now he was 
dead, and in spite of much 
petting and spoiling from her 
mother’s visitors, and the 
gay summer life of the big 
country house, little Mary 
was often listless and lonely 
for a playmate of her own age. 

Now here seemed, at last, to be the very 
thing she needed, — the natural, wholesome 
companionship, on equal terms, which “ only ” 
children so often spoil for the want of. 

There could certainly be no doubt of Mary 
Murray’s perfect health and strength. The way 
she stood up straight and held her little chin 
high, her bright eyes and cheeks, and her alert 
movements, all showed that. 

Yes, if she proved to be a “ nice child,” it 
would be a happy thing for Mary Merington 
that Mary Murray’s bossy broke his tether and 
ran away that afternoon. 



28 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


So the two Marys made friends unhindered, 
and planned good times ahead, with happy, child- 
like certainty that nothing would interrupt or 
interfere with them. 

The very next afternoon Mary Murray was to 
bring her bossy to eat clover on the lawn, and 
all three of them were to have a lovely time, 
playing together till supper-time. 

But now it was high time for both Mary 
Murray and her bossy to be at home. She 

gathered up the 
frayed rope and 
pulled the reluc- 
tant Mike away 
from the short, 
sweet grass that 
he was enjoying 
too well to leave without a protesting ‘‘ ba-a-a ! ” 

She looked lovingly and wistfully at her new 
friends as she said good-by, quite unable to find 
any words to express her gratitude and pleasure 
in their kindness. 

But they understood, and both of them kissed 



DIVIDING THE BOSSY 


29 


her warmly before they let her go. And when 
she turned at the big iron gates to look back, the 
fairy little girl still stood there, with her wonder- 
ful white dress, and long dark curls, and waved 
her little hand. 

Mary Murray went homeward in a blissful 
dream. 


CHAPTER III. 


MARY MERINGTOn’s GARDEN 

And oh, to think that, after all, Mary Murray 
couldn’t go ! 

For that same evening a message came for 
Mrs. Murray to go out cleaning all the next 
day ; and so, of course, Mary must stay at home 
from school and take care of Baby Joe. 

It was lucky for the Murrays that this hap- 
pened pretty often, for there was so little money 
in the Murray house at the best of times that a 
day’s cleaning made a great difference ; but poor 
Mary had to lose so many days of school that 
if she had not been a very bright child she surely 
would never have been promoted at all. 

Mary was so used to this state of affairs, and 
so clearly understood the necessity of it, that she 
never thought of rebelling. But to-day it did 
30 


MARY MERINGTON^S GARDEN 3 1 

not seem as much fun as usual to be keeping 
house all alone, getting dinner for the boys, and 
pretending she was little Joe's mother. 

Every time she thought of the fairy lady ” 
and the “ fairy little girl," and the beautiful time 
she would have had, her throat began to ache 
the way it does, you know, when you want to 
cry and are trying very hard not to. 

And as she couldn't help thinking of it all a 
good deal, I am afraid that Baby Joe did not 
have as much fun as usual, either. 

He was a big, clean baby, with a very pink 
face, and creases around his neck, 
and the cunningest little hollow in 
the back of it. He had two teeth 
already, and he laughed and showed 
them, no matter what happened. So Mary got 
through the day pretty well, and comforted her- 
self by thinking of the good time as only post- 
poned till to-morrow. 

But the next day it rained ; and that certainly 
did seem too bad ! Cleaning and baby-tending 
were matters of course, and couldn't be helped ; 



3 ^ 


MARY 'n' MARY 


but that “ it should have to go and rain ” was 
really too much. And the brown eyes gloomed, 
and the little frown wrinkles made her face as 
cloudy as the sky itself, that morning. 

It was a long, long day, and by night Mary 
had grown to feel as if her beautiful good time 
were nothing but a dream that she had waked 
from too soon, and the pretty fairy Mary and 
her beautiful mother were as far away and unreal 
as they had always been. 

What had she, Mary Murray, to do with grand 
houses and fine people ? 

Three days is a very long time to a little girl ; 
and when the third day proved to be perfectly 
pleasant, and there was no work to keep her at 
home, Mary Murray felt almost afraid to make 
the longed-for visit, after all. Suppose this 
other Mary had forgotten all about her, and did 
not want her any more ? Suppose she had gone 
away ? Suppose — 

But Mary was what Mrs. Murray called a 
spunky child.’* She’ll go through fire and 
water but what she’ll do anything she’s set 


MARY MERINGTOn’s GARDEN 33 

on doing,” Mrs. Murray would say, sometimes 
vexed and sometimes laughing (for spunk is not 
always a good thing to have in the house). 

To-day, however, spunk meant just courage. 

Mary hurried home from school to put on 
her clean blue gingham frock, and tie up her 
pretty copper-brown curls with her best white 
ribbon (nicely washed and ironed, and kept for 
Sundays). 

And she marched up the long avenue, under 
the great elms, as bravely as a little soldier, 
though her heart was thumping hard, — as many 
a brave soldier's does, too. 

Across the wide lawn she saw the gay broken 
colors of the flower-garden ; and among them a 
little white figure fluttered for a moment like 
a big butterfly, and then dropped to the ground. 

The fairy little girl was all alone, and very 
busy about something. 

As Mary stood still and watched her she 
would hardly have been surprised to see her 
unfold a pair of fairy wings and flutter over the 
flowers instead of among them. 


34 


MARY 'n' MARY 

Just then Mary Merington looked up and 
saw her “company.” Instantly she jumped to 
her feet, dropping a trowel, and 
upsetting two flower-pots, and 
clapped her hands. 

“ Mary Murray ! Oh, Mary 
Murray ! ” she cried, and ran to 
meet her, and caught her by both 
hands. “ Oh dear, I thought 
you weren’t coming at all, it’s been so long ! I 
felt as if there wasn’t any you^ after all, — as if 
you were only one of the ‘ s’pos’ns ’ I make up 
for myself, about a little girl to play with me. 
Do you make ‘ s’pos’ns ’ that way ? ” 

They stood swinging their clasped hands to- 
gether and smiling at each other, while Mary 
Merington chattered until she had to stop for 
breath. 

Then she remembered her gardening, and led 
the way back to the flower-bed where she had 
been at work. 

“This bed is my ’specially own garden,” she 
explained. “ I planted all the seeds in it myself. 



MARY MERINGTOn’s GARDEN 35 

I planted a lot more than these, too, only some- 
how they don't seem to come up very much ; so 
papa gave me these lovely geraniums, instead, 
and I am setting them out all my own self. I 
don’t believe mamma will mind,” she added, 
looking rather doubtfully at her grimy little 
hands and the earth stains on her delicate white 
frock, ‘‘ because she said I was to take all the 
care of my garden, and not ask John or any one 
to help me. But you may help, because you are 
company. Would you like to hold it up straight 
in the hole, or would you rather pat down this 
nice, soft mud, round it, while I hold it ? ” she 
asked, hospitably. 

Down they went on their knees before the 
flower-bed, and really you could hardly have 
told the difference between transplanting gera- 
niums and making mud pies ! 

Mary Murray was delighted. She thought 
she had never seen anything so beautiful as those 
dear little bushy green plants, all standing in a 
row, holding up their big bunches of pink and 
white and red blossoms. There was not a bit 


^6 MARY 'n’ MARY 

of envy or selfishness in her heart, and she 
was just as happy, and worked as lovingly, as 
Mary Merington herself. 

It took some time to 
do the setting-out, because 
the little gardeners changed 
their minds so many times 
about the way the colors 
looked best that I sup- 
pose every geranium in the 
row had been dug up and 
patted down again at least three times before 
the job was done. 

At last, however, the last scarlet geranium 
was settled in its place at the end of the row, 
and there they stood, pink and white and red 
and white and pink, all along the front of the 
bed ; and there stood the two Marys and gazed 
at them, beaming so with pride and satisfaction 
that they were a much prettier sight to look at 
than the flowers themselves, if there had been 
anybody there to see. 

It was almost sunset, now ; time for Mary 



MARY MERINGTON’s GARDEN 


37 


Murray to go and get her bossy and go home ; 
and Mary Merington ran into the house and 
got permission to go with her as far as the tree 
where the bossy was tied (with a new, strong 
rope, this time). 

They played a little with Mike, feeding him 
with clover blossoms ; then the little girls kissed 
each other good-by, and they parted. 

And on the way home Mary Murray had a 
happy thought ! Such a happy thought that 
she smiled all the rest of the way, and she lay 
awake for at least ten minutes that night, smil- 
ing over it in the dark. 

This was the thought — she would have a 
garden of her own ! 

For several days the children did not meet 
at all except at the bossy’s tree, where Mary 
Merington waited each afternoon at four o’clock, 
until Mary Murray came from school. But not 
even to this delightful new playmate had Mary 
Murray said a word about her happy thought. 
It was not that she meant to make a secret of it, 
— I do not think it occurred to her to do so. 


38 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


But her garden belonged to that part of her life 
which Mary Merington did not come into at all, 
— the Murray part. 

Then, all at once, Mary Merington came in, 
and became a part of it herself. 

One afternoon the Ready children, who lived 
in the house next door, 

— the house with the fine 
large pig in the side yard, 

— were astonished to see 
the “ fairy little girl ” 

come running down the lane, happy and eager 
as though she were coming to a charming new 
place, — and so it was, to her. 

When she reached the picket fence before the 
Murray house, she stopped and went very softly. 
Perhaps she might catch Mary Murray herself 
in the yard, and “ surprise her.'* 

She crept close to the fence and peeped through 
a broken gap. No Mary was in sight, but 
something else was, which made her open her 
soft gray eyes very wide, and stare in silent sur- 
prise and perplexity. 



CHAPTER IV. 


MARY Murray’s garden 

The little yard between the house and fence 
was bare and dreary looking, the earth only half 
covered with weeds and straggling grass, trampled 
by many careless feet. 

From the front door to the street ran a narrow 
footpath, trodden harder and barer than the rest, 
and along one side of this path was the thing at 
which Mary Merington was gazing with wide, 
puzzled eyes. 

A long, narrow strip of earth had been freshly 
dug up, and into it at even distances had been 
stuck a row of leafy green twigs, evidently broken 
from the low, spreading apple-tree that grew at 
one side of the house. 

Each twig bore at its top a bunch of some- 
thing, bright red and white alternately ; and as 
39 


40 


MARY 'n' MARY 



Mary Merington looked closer she saw that 
these bunches were rags, gathered into a kind of 
rosette, and tied firmly to the 
twigs with strings ! 

Just as the meaning of it all 
began to dawn on her mind, 
Mary Murray herself suddenly 
appeared around the corner of 
the house, carrying an old, rusty 
watering-pot which she held at 
arm's length, to keep the streams of water, trick- 
ling from many leaks, away from her dress. 

She went slowly along 
the path, and sprinkled 
each apple-tree twig in 
turn. Her face was in- 
tent and serious, but 
happy ; and now and 
then she stooped to 
straighten up a twig or 
to pull out a rosette, with caressing fingers, as 
if she loved them. 

Mary Merington understood now perfectly. 



MARY Murray’s garden 


41 


She knew the pleasure of a “ make-believe ” 
herself, but the artistic completeness of this one 
was something more than she had ever imagined, 
or perhaps could have done alone. 

She forgot all about her plan of surprising the 
absorbed little florist, but ran to the sagging gate 
and pushed it open, crying, “ Oh, Mary Murray, 
what a splendid flower-bed ! How did you ever 
think of it ? ” 

Mary jumped, and splashed the water over 
her shoes. (It was a surprise, after all !) But 
she turned joyfully to her visitor, heedless of wet 
feet and dress. 

Aren’t they pretty ? ” she said, exultantly. 
‘‘ The leaves haven’t wilted a bit ! And I’m going 
to have some pink ones, too.” 

She set down the watering-pot and pulled from 
her pocket a bundle of faded pink calico, torn 
into strips about three inches wide. 

Mary Merington was delighted. “ Oh, let 
me help,” she said. ‘‘ I see how you do it,” and 
down she dropped on the ground beside Mary 
Murray. 


42 


MARY ’n’ MARY 

And then the two little heads, the dark and 
the shining one, and the four busy hands 
and the twine and the rags were all mixed up 
together, while the pink flowers blossomed one 
by one, between the white and red. 

At last the row was 
finished, and the chil- 
dren stood looking at 
it with the happy 
satisfaction that you 
only get from the 
things that you do or make all yourself You 
know that feeling. It was better, some ways, 
than real flowers, Mary Merington said, because 
you could pull these up and change them around 
all you liked “ without any bother about roots.” 

And so they did ! If those make-believe 
geraniums were “ changed around ” once, they 
were twenty times in the next few days. 

The children played together first in one garden 
and then in the other, and it would be hard to 
say which they enjoyed most, the real flowers or 
the make-believes. 



MARY Murray’s garden 


43 


But one day, as Mary Murray knelt to pull a 
ravelling from the finest of her white geraniums 
(which were particularly liable to ravel, being 
made from an old sheet, whereas the scarlet ones 
represented Mary’s own little worn-out flannel 
petticoat), Mary Merington’s affectionate eyes 
saw a little cloud drift across the sunshine in 
her friend’s face. 

‘‘ Isn’t it a good one ? ” she asked, anxiously, 
for she had fashioned that particular specimen 
herself, and was proud of it. 

‘‘ Oh yes, it’s beautiful ! ” Mary Murray an- 
swered, warmly. “ Only,” she added, a little 
wistfully, ‘‘ there isn’t any smell to it.” 

Mary Merington stood 
and looked at her silently, 
and as she stood a new idea 
grew in her heart, and grew 
so high that it blossomed 
in her face as she smiled at Mary Murray. 

Oh, come with me ! ” she cried. “ Come 
home with me this minute, quick ! IVe thought 
of something lovely ! ” 



44 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


It took but a moment for their petition to fly 
in through the open kitchen window and for 
Mrs. Murray’s consent to drop out through it ; 
and then the two Marys hurried up the lane, one 
eager and inquisitive, the other smiling and 
mysterious. 

Arrived in her own garden, Mary Merington 
hastily produced her little spade and trowel. 
John, the gardener, mowing the lawn, was begged 
for a big basket ; and Mary Murray stood watch- 
ing, bewildered, while the other Mary counted 
her geranium plants. 

‘‘ Eighteen — nineteen — twenty ! I’ve got 
twenty. You shall have exactly half, — that’s ten.” 

Poor little geraniums, they must have felt 
discouraged ! Only a week since all that shak- 
ing about and digging up and patting down ! 
Almost a week, and they were just beginning to 
feel at home, and to push out little new rootlets 
in quest of food and drink. 

No matter, — up they came, ‘‘exactly half” 
of them ; and into the basket they went, and 
down the lane they hurried. 


MARY Murray’s garden 


45 


Before supper-time there was a row of real, 
growing, blooming, spicy-sweet flowers between 
the Murray doorstep and the sagging gate ; and 
Mary Murray hung over them in perfect bliss, 
stroking the velvety leaves and smoothing the 
earth about their roots. 

Mary Merington was scrubbing her dainty 
white hands in the rusty sprinkling-pot, and 
contemplating the geraniums 
with more pleasure (and a 
better kind of pleasure, I 
think) than any flowers had 
ever given her before. 

Somehow, they looked far 
prettier here than the ten left 
behind in her own garden, — 
here where there was nothing else that was pretty 
to compare them with. 

Presently it occurred to her that it was very 
quiet. She looked around. Mary Murray was 
standing gazing, with a little pucker between 
her eyebrows that meant something, at the little 
pile of rag-flowers thrown carelessly into the path. 



46 


MARY ’n’ MARY 

Suddenly she dropped on her knees, and began 
gathering them up into her skirt. 

“ I can't ! I won't ! — let them lie there and 
die ! " she said, almost angrily, and her lip was 
trembling. I've loved them all this week, and 
they s'posed they were truly flowers, and it isn’t 
fair ! ” 

‘‘ No, it isn't," Mary Merington agreed, with 
quick sympathy. “We must plant them again. 
Where Here ? " 

“ No-o,” said Mary Murray, thoughtfully. 

“No, I don’t want them 
where they can see the 
truly ones, at all. It 
might make them feel 
bad. They shall have a 
garden all by them- 
selves.” 

Over in the fence cor- 
ner, behind the straggling lilac bushes, was a nice 
little hidden nook where trampling boys and 
marauding chickens never came. It was shady, 
but rag-flowers wouldn't mind that. 



MARY Murray’s garden 47 

“And oh, ril tell you what let’s do,” said 
Mary Merington. “ Let’s have another bed, of 
asters. My mamma had lots and lots of them 
last year, and they were beautiful. And then we 
can have every color in the rag-bag, only think ! ” 

Very soon indeed the bed of asters bloomed 
beside the geraniums, and the shady corner was 
gay with them. 

“ And now they can live and make believe 
grow till the frost comes,” said Mary Murray, 
contentedly, “ and when they freeze, that’s proper 
flower dying, and they will go to the flower 
heaven.” 

And right here I will stop to say that that is 
just what they did. The leafy apple twigs stayed 
fresh and green week after week, in their damp, 
shady bed. The flowers, to be sure, drooped 
and faded from time to time, — but do not all 
flowers do that ? And these could be so quickly 
and easily replaced. 

Besides, when you were tired of one color and 
wanted a variety, only think how nice to be able 
to turn a pink flower into a blue, or purple 


48 MARY ’n’ MARY 

into red ! That was better than the truly ” 
garden. 

Yes, I really think, if there was any difference, 
the children found that garden more interesting 
than the other; but they tended the geraniums 
faithfully, too, and watered, and weeded, and 
stirred them up so often that they decided to 
survive all the transplantings, after all, and grew 
and bloomed as bravely beside the hard-trodden 
path as their sisters in the beautiful garden up at 
the great house. 

Mary Merington's cheeks grew pink and her 
hands brown with all this delightful out-of-doors 
business ; and Mamma Merington, looking on, 
saw her little daughter brighten up from day to 
day, forgetting to be listless or lonely. She was 
forgetting herself, too, which was the best of 
all ; and the little trace of spoiling was fading 
quite away. 

As for Mary Murray, if one were to find fault 
with her it would be for a trait that her brothers 
were wont to call bossing.” She was so eager 
and intent, always, on the thing that she was 


MARY Murray’s garden 49 

doing that she was a little apt to feel that the thing 
must be the way she wanted it ; and among the 
little Readys and Donovans, and other children 
in the lane, that sort of feeling was too common 
to make perfectly peaceful playtimes. There were 
often storms and sudden showers in the open lots 
which were the common playground. 

But this new friend was different, and Mary 
Murray loved and admired her too much, even 
when they had grown quite used to each other, 
to be self-willed and domineering with her. Her 
voice and her manners, too, grew a little softer, a 
little gentler, as the summer went on. 

“ It is doing them both good, every day,” said 
Mamma Merington to Papa Merington, well 
pleased. 


CHAPTER V. 


MARY MARY ” 

There couldn’t be a more delightful playground 
than that big open pasture down the lane, just be- 
yond Mary Murray’s and the other little houses. 
All the children gathered there after school, and 
the smaller ones, who did not go to school, played 
there from morning till night, in the sunshine 
and breezes. Bare brown feet and wind-blown 
hair, — tanned and dirty and happy, — what a 
crowd of them there was from the five little houses ! 

Near the lane was the old, unused gravel-pit, 
where the little ones sat in the warm sand like a 
flock of chickens sunning themselves, and dug 
the clean yellow earth out of the low bank left 
by the men and carts, and scooped it into old 
pans and cans with rusty iron spoons, — busy 
and contented and safe. 


MARY ’n’ MARY ’ 


51 


Many times in the course of the morning a 
mother’s head would be thrust out of some back 
window in the row of houses, and a single glance 
“ over in the Lot ” would assure her that the par- 
ticular little blowsy head and pink or red frock 
she was looking for was safe and happy within call. 



Beyond, in the sparse brown pasture grass, 
the older girls hunted for birdfoot violets and 
innocents, and “ played house ” in a delightful 
wilderness of building stone, dug many years ago 
from the gravel-pit, and abandoned, and now 
known as the “ rock house.” 

As for the boys, it would be rather hard to 
say what they could not or did not do, from 
“scrub” ball games to Indian fighting. There 
was room for everything, and just the right kind 
of places to do it in. 


52 


MARY ’n* MARY 


Naturally it was not long before Mary Mer- 
ington was introduced to the pleasures of “ the 
Lot” by her new friend. The two children 
were fast becoming inseparable, but of course 
Mary Murray did not at once lose all interest in 
her old friends and neighbors, and to Mary 
Merington the new world of romping, shouting, 
chattering children was exciting and fascinating. 
She kept always close to Mary Murray, — 
from the first she felt a difference between her 
friend and the rest, — ‘‘not at all like Maggie 
Ready and Nellie Donovan,” she told her 


mother. She shrank a little 
from the noise and bustle, yet 
it drew her back again ; and 
oftener and oftener she would 



beg for leave to “ go down the 


lane and play to-day,” instead 
of having Mary Murray play 


quietly with her in her own beautiful big garden, 
or in the shady summer-house under the trees. 

It must have been about this time that the 
two little girls received their new name (not 


‘^MARY ’n’ MARY 


53 


quite a nickname), — for that began in “the 
Lot/' As they were always together it was 
often necessary to speak of them together, also, 
and “ Mary Murray and Mary Merington ” was 
much too long to say in a hurry, as you can see. 
“ Mary 'n' Mary ” was the natural result. It 
was a friendly little joke, at first, among the girls 
they played with ; then the boys, Mary Murray's 
brothers, took it up at home, in the vain hope 
of teasing her. 

It did not, at all. From the first, the two 
Marys failed to see anything peculiar or funny 
in the fact that their two names were alike. Per- 
haps it helped a little to draw them together, for 
when they shared ail their apples and chocolates, 
. it seemed natural to share their name, as well. 

But Papa Merington thought it funny when 
he heard it, and began at once to call them so. 

And so pretty soon everybody had forgotten 
that it was a joke at all, and at the big house and 
the little house as well as “ in the Lot," “ Mary 
'n' Mary " was the natural, matter-of-course 
name of the pair. 


54 MARY ’n' MARY 

At the beginning, mamma had felt a little 
doubtful of the wisdom of turning her delicate, 
sensitive little daughter loose among this sturdy, 
boisterous crowd of youngsters ; but she said 
nothing to Mary, only waited patiently and 
watched carefully for results. 

It was certain that her little girl was growing 
rosier and plumper all the time ; that she stood 
up straighter, and her shoulders were flat, and 
she ate a little more breakfast every day, — but 
as yet no sign of roughness had crept into her 
soft voice and gentle manners. 

But one day she came running in at supper- 
time with scarlet cheeks and wide eyes, too eager 
to tell her adventures and claim sympathy and 
support to eat any supper at all ; and all night 
she was flushed and restless. And after that 
there was a little change in Mary ’n’ Mary’s 
playing, though neither of the children real- 
ized it. 

It had been an afternoon of adventure. 

The larger boys, two of Mary Murray’s 
brothers among them, had been having a game 


MARY ’n’ MARy” 

of ball, and the girls were playing their favorite 
game of “ poison,” jumping from one to an- 
other of the big, scat- 
tered stones of the “ rock 
house.” (You know how 
it is played, — all the 
ground is water, and if 
you touch your foot to 
it you are drowned.) 

In this game Mary 'n’ 

Mary were both at a little disadvantage with the 
other children ; for bare toes can curl and cling 
on rough or smooth, while the two Marys had 
to balance very nicely and jump cautiously to 
keep from slipping. 

It was a good while now since Mary Murray 
had “gone barefoot” like the others. 

She did not know herself why it had ceased 
to be the pleasure it once was, to feel the cold, 
wet grass underfoot in the morning, and the 
warm road dust after school. It was one of the 
little ways in which she had grown different since 
the new friend came into her life. 



MARY ’n’ MARY 


S6 

Mrs. Murray grumbled a little about wearing 
out shoes in summer time, but she agreed that 
Mary was getting too old for going barefoot now, 
and was not displeased to see her “ looking like 
a lady.” 

And Mary faithfully mended and wore her old 
shoes, changing them twice a day, at school-time, 
for a better pair, and knew only that she “ felt 
nicer ” so. Even now, jumping perilously from 
stone to stone, she did not envy her playmates* 
tanned and scratched little feet. 

Both the boys in the ball game and the girls 
on the rocks were making plenty of noise ; but 
at last a sudden outburst of cries and shouts 
from the boys made the girls look around, to see 
that the ball game had stopped short, and all the 
players were running and shouting and throwing 
stones, along an old stone wall that crossed the 
lot. They were trampling down the tangles of 
blackberry and goldenrod, beating it with sticks, 
and crying, “There he is! Head him off! 
Chuck that rock at him, Billy ! ** 

“ Oh, it’s a snake ! ” cried some of the little 


MARY ’n’ MARY ” 


57 


girls, and others shrieked and laughed and hud- 
dled on the highest of the play-rocks, as the 
hunt came nearer. 

Mary Murray was not 
excited. She did not like 
snakes, but she was too 
sensible to be afraid 
of one at that distance, 
and she paid no atten- 
tion to the fuss. It was 
the boys’ affair, not hers. 

But suddenly the other Mary gave them all 
a great surprise. 

As soon as she realized that all those boys 
and sticks and stones were hunting down one 
little creature, she screamed louder than the rest, 
and sprang from her stone to the ground. “ Oh, 
they’re hurting it! They’re killing it 1 Mary! 
Mary ! ” she screamed. 

She was wringing her hands, and her cheeks 
were white. 

‘‘ Oh, stop them ! Make them stop ! ” 

The other children stared at her, too astonished 



58 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


for a moment to speak. The child was frantic 
with pity and sympathy, — for a snake! a hor- 
rid, nasty snake ! 

‘‘ Why, of course 1 Everybody kills snakes. 
Why shouldn’t they ? ” they asked, perplexed. 

But Mary Murray did not wait to ask ques- 
tions or argue ; her loyalty was quick and warm. 
She did not like snakes, but at that moment it 
was not the snake which mattered : it was the 
white cheeks, and the great tears welling over 
in the soft gray eyes. To stand by Mary Mer- 
ington was her one instinct in the first moment; 
in the next, I am afraid, the fierce joy of battle 
awoke in her heart. 

With one bound she was down beside Mary 
Merington, and had caught her hand. 

“We’ll stop them — come!” she cried, and 


ran. 


CHAPTER VI. 

SPEAKING OF SNAKES 

Never was a more surprised crowd of boys 
than that, when their manly sport was brought 
to a sudden halt by the interference of two girls. 

The frightened, tearful Mary and the fierce, 
threatening one were squarely in their path, and 
unless they pushed them out of it, or walked 
over them, there was nothing to do but stop and 
argue. 

But the boys were angry. They ordered the 
little girls to get out of their way, and asked 
them what business it was of theirs. 

Mary Murray did not really know yet, 
but that made no difference to her. “ You 
sha'n’t kill it ! I won’t let you ! ” she de- 

clared, and as her indignant brother advanced 
59 


6o 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


to push her bodily out of the way, her eyes 
fairly blazed at him. 

“ Don’t you dare touch me, Tim 
Murray ! ” she said. Her voice was 
not loud now, but she looked squarely 
ih his face, head and shoulders above 
her, and Tim Murray stopped. 

There was a point in the Murray 
family beyond which Mary usually had 
her own way, although all the boys 
were older than she. 

She had reached that point now ; and Tim 
stopped. 

But the other boys were jostling each other as 
they crowded around the two Marys, 'and argued 
the question hotly. Nobody stopped to think 
that it was too late now, — the chase was done, 
already ; for by this time their prey was safely 
coiled under some friendly rock in the wall. 

“They bite you! They are poison! If a 
snake bites you, you swell up and die ! ” the 
clamoring voices cried. 

Mary Murray said not a word ; she just stood 



SPEAKING OF SNAKES 


6i 

facing them, and breathing hard. It was Mary 
Merington, — the pitiful and trembling Mary, — 
who answered. 

‘‘No, they don't, — nothing is poison but a 
rattlesnake and a water-snake, and there aren't 
any here. Those little striped snakes wouldn't 
hurt if they did bite, — my father says so ! And 
they are too scared to bite, anyway." 

The soft, eager, pleading voice, so different 
from their own, made the boys stop and listen 
in spite of their anger. They even condescended 
to reason with her. 

Above the confusion one of the smaller boys 
shouted that his brother knew a feller that had a 
black snake as long as from here to that wall 
wind right 'round his legs, and if a man hadn't 'a' 
killed him he'd 'a' choked that feller ! 

“ We-e-11 ! A black snake, six feet long ! " 
said Mary, scornfully, forgetting to plead. 
“ That isn't little garter-snakes, no bigger than 
your finger ! " It wasn't very clear, perhaps, 
but clear enough for the purpose of argument. 

Two boys, talking together, claimed, one that 


62 


snakes killed ducks, the other that they ate 
eggs. 

At this Mary Murray broke into a peal of 
laughter, and somehow, when Mary Murray 
laughed like that everybody who heard her was 
apt to laugh, too. Even the vexed and baffled 
boys grinned reluctantly. 

“ Oh, just think how he’d look ! ” she cried ; 

“ that little snake, when he’d 
swallowed an egg ! Suppose 
he ate half a dozen ! ” 

They all grinned then, — 
they couldn’t help it ! 

But Mary Merington was too much in earnest 
to lose sight of her argument. 

These little striped snakes and green snakes 
around here can’t eat eggs,” she said, seriously, 
‘‘ but they do eat bugs and worms and flies and 
things, that do harm, — hundreds and hundreds 
of them. When my papa was a little boy he 
used to catch snakes, and put them in his garden 
to eat the bugs, — toads, too! He had a great 
big fat old toad for a pet, that lived under a 



SPEAKING OF SNAKES 


63 


rhubarb plant, and he would come hopping when 
he called him, and he fed him with flies. Did 
you ever see a toad eat a fly ? ” 

The boys were listening, now, and interested, 
most of them ; though a few, giving up all hope 
of the postponed snake, had straggled back 
toward the deserted ball ground, loudly discuss- 
ing the habits and character of the snake tribe 
as they went. 

None of Mary’s audience had ever seen a toad 
eat a fly ; probably none of them had ever let a 
toad live long enough to eat anything. 

‘‘ His tongue is ever and ever so long,” she 
explained, “ and he sits in the sun and winks till 
a fly comes buzzing, and then his tongue just 
shoots out, quick as lightning — just like that ! — 
and the fly is gone.” 

(Several of the little boys, listening absorbed, 
unconsciously went through the motion she de- 
scribed, with their tongues.) 

“ My papa and I have watched them, lots of 
times,” she went on, “ and oh, isn’t a snake’s 
tongue pretty ? Watch one and see. 


64 


MARY 'n’ MARY 



‘‘It is SO bright red, and he just jiggles it back 
and forth all the time, like that ! (And her little 
forefinger jiggled very fast indeed, to illustrate.) 

But the boys, interested though they were, 
could not let a girl do all the talking. One of 
them boldly changed 
the subject, in order 
to tell what he knew 
about mud-turtles, hav- 
ing been more familiar 
with their habits and, indeed, on terms of intimate 
friendship with several. 

The other girls had joined the group, as soon 
as it seemed sure there was no more danger, — 
and gradually they all drifted back to their dif- 
ferent games. 

But I do not think they all forgot that little 
talk, and I am sure that many an innocent, use- 
ful snake and toad had reason that summer to 
thank Mary Merington for her courage and her 
tender heart. 

When the little girls had gone back to the 
rock playhouse, Mary gave them another sur- 


SPEAKING OF SNAKES 65 

prise, by sitting down on the nearest rock and 
beginning to cry. 

They were all around her in a moment, anxious 
and sympathetic. 

No, she wasn’t sick, she said, — there wasn’t a 
thing the matter, only she felt tired. It was the 
only way she knew of expressing the reaction she 
felt after her painful excitement. 

She did not care about playing any more, and 
pretty soon she started for home, Mary Murray 
escorting her all the way, with motherly anxiety. 
But to Mary Murray’s astonishment, she found 
that her friend was full of generous admiration 
for her I Mary Merington praised her^ for 
“being so brave, — running right in front of all 
those big boys, and making them stop ! She 
never, never could have done such a thing ! ” 

“ Why, but you did ! ” said Mary Murray, 
bewildered. “You went every step that I did, 
and I never should have thought of doing it 
if it hadn’t been for you ! And you are afraid 
of boys, and I am not. (I should think not! 
with four of them in the house, bothering all 


66 


MARY ’n’ MARY 

the time !) So you were twice as brave as I 
was/' 

Neither of them would give up her point; 
and when they submitted the case to Mamma 
Merington, each eager to prove that the other 
deserved most credit, she did not settle it, either ; 
for she praised them both, and kissed them both, 
and called them two gallant little crusaders. 

But it was after this adventure that she began 
to think of so many nice games and places to 
play around home ; and when Mary 'n' Mary 
did go down the lane to play with Maggie and 
Nellie, it usually happened to be at an hour when 
the larger boys, and girls too, were away at the 
big high school ball games on the common, 
and only the gentler and younger children were 
to be found in ‘‘ the Lot.” 

How did mamma know about the ball games? 
Well, that is a way mothers have ; they know 
almost everything. 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN THE POULTRY BUSINESS 

‘‘ Papa ! Oh, papa ! ” 

Papa Merington was deep in the political 
editorials of his newspaper, on the shady side of 
the veranda. He smiled as he heard the eager 
call and the little feet running across the gravel 
of the driveway and up the steps ; but he did 
not put down his paper, — he just lifted it a bit 
higher, and waited. 

In a moment, a little brown head popped 
under it and up, and Mary pressed between his 
knees, all out of breath, and too eager to wait, 
even for papa's kiss. 

She began with her lips against his. “ Oh, 
papa ! The carpenter men are pulling down 
John's little house — " 

‘‘ Why, that's all right, Marykin," he said. 

67 


68 


MARY ^n’ MARY 


‘‘John is going to live in the nice, new rooms 
over the stable. He doesn’t mind : he is 
pleased.” 

“ Oh, yes,” cried Mary, 
almost interrupting in her 
hurry. “ It isn’t John, — 
but papa, they are carry- 
ing it all away in a cart, and I want the plaster ! 
Mayn’t I have it ? ” 

“The plaster.? You want the plaster?” said 
papa, slowly, trying to take in this new develop- 
ment. Somehow Mary was always surprising 
him, in these days. “Why, what on earth do 
you want with old plaster, chicken ? ” 

“ It’s/^?r chickens, papa. We want it for the 
hens,” said Mary, still breathless and very much 
in earnest. “ Don’t you know it is the best 
thing in the world for hens to make egg-shells 
of? Please may I tell the men to leave some 
for us ? ” 

“ My child, you shall have all the plaster on 
the place if you will kindly pause and explain 
how you come to be in the poultry business. 



IN THE POULTRY BUSINESS 69 

What hens are these you are making egg-shells 
for?” 

“ Why, they are Mary Murray’s hens, papa. 
Don’t you know Mary has seven of the most 
beautiful hens, all her own ? And when they 
lay a dozen eggs she puts the money in her 
bank. And we must make them lay, for eggs 
are very low, now, — only twenty-five cents, just 
think ! And Mary does need the money so 
much ! ” 

“ Well, we’ll have to see about these egg-shells,” 
said papa, rising and throwing down his paper. 
“ Now tell me as we go, what is the pressing 
need of egg money at this particular time ? ” 

Mary seized his hand joyfully, and pulled him 
along the driveway toward the stables, dancing 
with impatience, and chattering fast. Mary could 
talk so fast ! 

“You know school closes in two weeks, papa, 
and there is going to be the most splendid time ! 
All the children march from the schools to the 
town hall, and there’s a concert, and they all sing, 
and all, the people go. I wish we did such nice 


yO MARY ’n’ MARY 

things at Mrs. Dupont’s school ! But Mary 
hasn’t any white dress, you know, papa, and of 

course they all wear 
white. So Mrs. Mur- 
ray says Mary may 
have a new dress, only 
she can’t afford a very 
pretty one ; and there’s 
oh, such a pretty one 
in the big store over 
at Berket Centre, with 
lace and little ruffles ! And Mrs. Murray says 
she can only spare four dollars, but Mary may 
spend the money in her little bank and perhaps 
that will make enough to get the ruffly one, — 
it’s two dollars more. And I do so want Mary 
to have the ruffly one ! I wanted her to take all 
the money in my bank, too, but Mary won’t 
take it, papa — she won’t take a cent, just think ! 
So the hens just must lay eggs, you see ! ” 

Probably Mary Merington had never in 
her life thought about her own clothes as 
costing money. She wore her pretty, dainty 



IN THE POULTRY BUSINESS 


71 


things as unconsciously as a kitten wears its 
fur. 

The only money she knew or thought much 
about was the bits of silver in her own little purse 
and bank ; and these she spent a few cents at a 
time, or hoarded carefully to buy Christmas gifts, 
like every other natural, wholesome child. So 
she could enter into her friend’s plans and sav- 
ings with perfect sympathy, and the extra two 
dollars looked every bit as big to her as it did to 
Mary Murray. 

Her breath gave out entirely about the time 
they reached the scene of operations behind the 
stable, and she looked on in silent satisfaction 
while papa despatched a cartload of rubbish in the 
direction of 
McGowan’s 
Lane. 

Then as 
they started 
back to the house hand in hand (Mary dancing 
now with pleasure) he began : 

‘‘ Well, now, in view of the depressed condi- 



72 


MARY ’n’ MARY 

tion of the egg market, and the pressing necessity 
for repairing the deficiencies of Mary Murray’s 
wardrobe, it seems to me that some more imme- 
diately effective expedient than a diet of old 
mortar should be devised.” 

Mary loved papa’s big words : it was a joke 
between them. She never stopped to puzzle 
over their meaning, — somehow she knew what 
he meant without any trouble. She hung on his 
hand and skipped along, pleased and expectant. 
It was sure to be all right if papa was ‘‘ taking an 
interest.” 

“Now, I should think,” he went on, “that a 
better market might be found. For instance, 
a couple of ‘ strictly fresh ’ eggs, — big ones ? 
brown ones ^ — ” (“ Oh, yes, the biggest, brown- 
est!” Mary put in) — “would be worth about 
twice as much to me as the ones I had for break- 
fast this morning. That would be five cents 
apiece. Do you suppose Mary Murray would 
be willing to supply me with strictly fresh eggs 
for my breakfast every day? If so, I will agree 
to take her entire output.” 


IN THE POULTRY BUSINESS 


73 


Mary dropped his hand and clapped her own. 

‘‘ Oh, papa, papa ! how dear and nice you are ! 
Now we can have the ruffly one, and maybe the 
hair-ribbon besides ! We were so afraid we 
couldn’t afford to get them both.” 

It was time by now for school to be out, and 
Mary ran joyfully down the drive and along the 
road to the bossy’s tree, to feed him with clover 
blossoms and tell him all about the splendid 
plan while she waited for the other Mary, to 
make her heart glad with the good news. 

Now Mary Murray was a very “ literal ” child. 
That means she heard and remembered exactly 
what people said, and went by it, word for word. 

Papa Merington had said he wanted her eggs 
‘‘ every day.” Accordingly, next morning, when 
he came downstairs, there was 
Mary Murray on the piazza wait- 
ing for him. 

In her hand was a little basket, 
with a clean red napkin tucked 
neatly over it; and under the napkin were two 
big brown eggs. 



74 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


Papa Merington was very serious and busi- 
nesslike. (He never used his big words to 
Mary Murray, since he found that it puzzled 
and distressed the “ literal child, who tried her 
best to understand each word.) He praised the 
eggs, — and indeed they were beautiful eggs, — 
and then he drew a handful of money out of his 
pocket and picked out two bright, new five-cent 
pieces, to pay for them. 

And Mary Murray ran all the way home, to 
eat her breakfast, and wash the dishes, and lead 
Mike up the road to his shady tree, before half- 
past eight o'clock. 

Next morning she came again ; and this time 
there were three eggs in the little basket, and 
Mary Murray's face beamed with success. 

The other Mary beamed, too, with sympathy ; 
and when papa saw her eyes across the breakfast- 
table watching his egg-cup with such loving 
pride, he made a heroic effort and ate all three, 
though it was one too many for comfort. 

The next day there were three again, and the 
next day, five ! One was quite warm. 


IN THE POULTRY BUSINESS 


75 


Mary Murray’s eyes were a good sight to see 
as her little palm closed tight over the shining 
silver quarter ; but Papa Merington laughed 
and said he should have to take a partner or 
he should burst, trying to keep up his end 
of the contract; and he asked Mary if she 
thought her hens would lay two eggs apiece a 
day, when they had 
eaten enough plaster. 

Mary Merington 
laughed gaily at papa’s 
funning, and promised to be his partner, and eat 
her share of the eggs. Mary Murray laughed, 
too, and felt the kindness, if she didn’t quite 
understand the joke. But as she went home her 
face grew very thoughtful, then sober, and at 
last very determined. 



CHAPTER VIII. 


BABES IN THE WOOD 


That same afternoon, when Mary *n’ Mary had 
led home the bossy, Mike (gaily adorned with a 
wreath of daisies, and 



struggling hard all the 


way to back himself out 
of it), they went into Mrs. 
Murray’s little parlor, and 


took down the little red and green painted bank 
from the mantel-shelf. 

This was a regular daily ceremony now, and 
was very carefully performed. Each of the 
Marys in turn weighed the little bank in her 
hands, and shook it to listen to the rattle of the 
coins inside; and by these means, helped out by 
Mary Murray’s memory of her business dealings 
for the past month or so, they guessed at the 


BABES IN THE WOOD 


77 


amount of the little hoard, and calculated how 
soon the grand shopping expedition to Berket 
Centre might be made. 

To-day they decided that there must be at 
least a dollar and a quarter there ; and Mary 
Merington was joyfully reckoning on five or 
even six eggs to-morrow, when Mary Murray 
broke in. 

“If there are, I sha'n't sell ’em to your 
father,” she said, firmly. 

“What?” gasped the other Mary, her air- 
castles all tumbling about her ears. “ Why, 
Mary Murray, papa promised ! You .made a 
bargain ! Why not ? ” 

“ No,” Mary Murray declared, resolutely, 
“your father doesn’t want so many. He whis- 
tled — you know he did. He didn’t expect 
there’d be so many when he made the bargain ; 
so it isn’t fair. Besides,” she added, as a clinch- 
ing argument, “ he said he’d burst.” 

And all her friend could urge did not change 
her determination. She was, you know, a literal- 
minded child, and also a “ spunky ” one ; and 


78 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


both these qualities were aroused. Mr. Mering- 
ton should have his three eggs a day (provided, 
of course, that the hens agreed to it), and all eggs 
beyond that number must find another market. 

It seemed the lady for whom Mrs. Murray 
had been working had once bought eggs from 
her; and Mary’s plan was to save all over Papa 
Merington’s three a day, until there were half 
a dozen, and then carry them to this other cus- 
tomer, over on the West Berket road. 

And being “spunky,” as beforesaid, she stuck 
to this plan, in spite of all persuasions. She 
was almost cross about it, and Mary Merington 
had to give it up, disappointed and perplexed. 

But of course papa would 
make it all right the next 
morning, when they ex- 
plained the case to him, she 
thought; and so she went 
out to play with Baby Joe 
in his little soap-box cart, and made a new row 
of red-and-blue-plaid asters, and forgot all about 
the egg business for the time. 



BABES IN THE WOOD 


79 


But next morning two things happened. 

First, Mary Merington slept too hard and 
too long, so she was not on the veranda, as usual, 
waiting for Mary Murray and the eggs. 

Secondly, papa had had a message the night 
before, calling him away on business. So, being 
in a hurry, he paid Mary for her three eggs, 
promised to pay when he came home for all she 
brought meantime, and jumped into the car- 
riage that was ready to take him to the station. 
There was no chance to explain the new plan, if 
Mary had meant to (but I do not think she 
did mean to ; it would not be her way). 

And so it happened that in three days a store 
of six brown eggs had been collected ; and on 
the fourth morning, which was Saturday (the 
very morning Papa Merington was expected 
home again), Mary Merington asked her mother 
if she might go with the other Mary to Mrs. 
Preston’s, over on the West Berket road, to take 
her some eggs. 

It did not occur to mamma to consider the 
egg part of it ; she merely made sure that it was 


8o 


MARY MARY 


not too far, and that Mary Murray knew the 
way, and gave her consent. 

Off went Mary ’n’ Mary in high glee, with 
the little basket and the neat red napkin. 

They started along the road, stopping to leave 
Mike his pail of fresh water, and console him 
with kisses and clover for the shortness of the 
visit, and then hastened on. 

But when they reached the head of the lane 
Mary Murray suddenly thought of a new plan. 

Let's go across through the 
woods, — it's shorter than this 
way, and it's such a pretty road. 
I know a place where the red 
lilies grow, and if they are out we 
can get some for your mamma." 

Gray-eyed Mary was always 
ready to go where brawn-eyed 
Mary led, so they turned down the lane, past 
all the little houses, and on to the end, where a 
pair of bars led into the wood road. 

It was pretty, — cool and shady under the 
pine-trees, flickering with sunshine and breeze 



BABES IN THE WOOD 


8l 


among the birches in the old clearings. The 
red lilies were in bloom, burning like little flames 
among the forest green, each one alone, here 
and there through the wood openings. 

The children hunted for them among the trees, 
calling to each other with joyful cries at each new 
discovery. 

Presently they came together again, each with 
her hands full of the gorgeous red and gold. 

But where were they now? Not on the road, 
nor within sight of it. Intent on the flower 
hunt they had crossed a little ridge ; and for a 
a few moments Mary Murray stood peering 
through the trees in an anxious puzzle. Mary 
Merington watched her face silently, waiting to 
be frightened when the time came. 

Oh, I know ! ” said Mary Murray at last. 
“ WeVe come over toward the swamp, — it’s 
right over there. If we get over that stone wall 
we’ll be in a path that runs along this side of the 
ridge and comes into the rpad again.” 

It was a rough scramble through a little 
thicket of close-set pines, full of interlacing dead 


§2 


MARY ’n* MARY 

twigs that caught at hair ahd hands and dresses ; 
but after a short struggle (Mary Murray ahead), 
and a few tears and scratches, not worth minding, 
the little girls tumbled over the wall and found 
themselves in a well-trodden cow-path, that 
wound among the alders and witch-hazel along 
the edge of the great swamp. 

Blueberries grew there, too, — high-bush blue- 
berries, big and sweet, and most of them high over 
little heads. But a little jumping and climbing 
brought them down, along with a few more tears 
and scratches ; and very soon Mary Merington’s 
pretty embroidered handkerchief was a round, 
knobby bag, spotted with purple stains. 

Cracker-pies ! Does ever anything in the world 
taste so good, when you are tired and hungry in 
the woods ? 

Crackers were the rule, between meals,** in 
the Murray house, and Mary, who had a 
healthy appetite, usually started on any long ex- 
pedition with a supply in her pocket. 

There were two apiece. The children laid 
them out between them, on an old mossy log. 


BABES IN THE WOOD 


33 


and carefully split and filled them with crushed 
berries. In a few minutes more the only traces 
left of berries or 
crackers were those 
around two rosy 
mouths and on ten 
dirty little fingers. 

Then they 
found mitchella 
vines growing in the moss, and gathered and ate 
the pretty red berries (seedy and insipid after 
the blueberry feast). 

Then they pulled up the bright-colored roots 
of the goldthread vine, prized as “good for 
canker/’ though neither of them needed it. 

Then they looked up, and found that the 
glints of sunshine through the leaves had all van- 
ished, and all the sky they could see among 
the tree-tops was a mass of rolling, purple-gray 
cloud. 

“ It’s going to rain ! Oh, we must hurry ! 
You mustn’t get wet!” cried Mary Murray, 
anxious as a mother. 



H 


MARY MARY 


c#' 


They gathered up their treasures, the basket 
of eggs and the armful of red lilies, and hurried 
along the path, stumbling over the alder roots, 
and listening fearfully to the pat-pat of the first 
big drops of rain on the leaves overhead. 

Other paths ran in and out among the alders, 
and the children kept to the ones that took them 
farthest from the swamp and 
nearest to the hillside. 

It grew darker and darker. 
The big drops fell so fast 
that they broke through the 
shelter of the leaves ; and 
soon the whole world was a 
dripping, chilly wilderness, 
and Mary ’n* Mary were a 
shivering, piteous pair. 

They struggled on, ding- 
basket, and Mary Murray 
tried, with chattering teeth and shaking voice, to 
encourage her friend, by insisting that they must 
come to the road pretty soon. But in fact she 
had no longer the least idea where she was. 



ing to flowers and 


BABES IN THE WOOD 


85 


At last even her “ spunk '' gave out. 

They had climbed a little way up on the hill- 
side, where the ground was dryer, and a thick 
growth of pine and scrub-oak gave them a little 
more shelter. Tired and breathless, they hud- 
dled under a bushy little oak-tree, and looked 
in each other’s faces, wet with tears and rain 
together, with eyes full of fear and misery. 

Are we — lost ? ” whispered Mary Mering- 
ton, and Mary Murray nodded silently, swallow- 
ing a sob. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE MAN WHO RAN 

For a long, dreadful minute neither of them 
spoke. 

Each was struggling to keep back her tears for 
the other’s sake, but each little heart was full of 
despairing terror. Mary Merington’s eyes were 
fixed on Mary Murray’s face, but Mary Mur- 
ray’s were gazing into the woods around as 
though trying to pierce straight through them 
to the lost road. 

Presently her face changed a little. Was that 
— wasn’t it — a path? — the faintest, narrowest 
track through the wet dead leaves where the 
scrub-oak grew thinnest, up the slope ? She 
stood quite still, trying to make sure before 
she spoke. 

Suddenly they both heard a new sound, above 
86 


THE MAN WHO RAN 


87 

the hiss and patter of the rain, — a rustling of 
branches up there on the hillside, and — yes, the 
sound of running feet ! 

For a moment it was a new terror. Wild 
beasts, — wild men, — who knew what might 
not break out upon them from the underbrush 

The sounds came nearer very fast. In a 
minute they began to get glimpses between the 
trees, and soon they could see him 
plainly, — a man running through 
the woods along that very path 
which Mary had just spied out. 

As he ran he looked behind 
him over his shoulder, as if he 
were afraid of something that 
followed. 

He was a young fellow, hardly 
more than a boy, strong and lithe ; and he wore a 
soldier's dress of brown khaki, with a broad hat 
slouched low over his face to keep off the rain. 

Mary 'n' Mary stood frozen in their places, 
holding their breath. 

The man came nearer, and they could see that. 



88 


MARY ’n' MARY 


fast as he ran, he was choosing his steps and 
dodging the branches, so as to make as little 
noise as possible. He looked from side to side, 
and when he was only a little way from them he 
dropped suddenly upon the ground beside a thick 
low mass of scrub-oak. 

For a moment he lay there panting; then as 
he raised himself a little and turned toward them, 
the children were amazed to see that he was 
laughing ! 

All at once the world began to seem a little 
lighter and warmer and safer : here was some- 
body to take care of them. The cold little 
fingers unlocked, and they would have started 
forward, — but at that moment a new noise made 
them stop again. 

The man heard it, too, and raised his head 
alertly, like a hound, — listening, watching. 

Men were coming down the hill behind him, 
talking, and breaking through the brush, making 
no effort to conceal their presence. 

The man had stopped laughing; he raised 
himself on hands and knees, and crept stealthily. 


THE MAN WHO RAN 


89 


noiselessly, into the thicket. When the branches 
had closed behind him, and the wet leaves ceased 
quivering, no one could guess that a man lay 
under them, holding his gasping breath to give 
no sign. 

The other men came on, beating through the 
bushes on either side of the path, calling back 
and forth, laughing and joking. There were 
four of them, all young like the first, and 
dressed in the same trim brown blouse and leg- 
gings. 

They did not seem to mind the rain, though 
once in awhile a man would say, “ Ouch ! ” as a 
shaken twig poured its cold drops inside his 
collar, or a wet branch slapped back into his 
face. 

Nearer and nearer, — one of them was close 
to the thicket, now ; another moment, and he 
had broken through it. There was a stumble, 
a shout, and a laugh, and the rest came hurrying 
up. They all plunged into the thicket, and 
then loud, hollow groans began to mingle with 
the jolly voices. 


90 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


Presently they came out, dragging the hunted 
man along with them. His legs and arms trailed 
on the ground in a dreadful way, and he groaned 
at every 'step. When they laid him down in the 
path, he cried out ; but still the others laughed 
and did not seem to care at all ! 

All this time the poor puzzled children were 
standing motionless, too dazed with wonder 
at these strange doings to think of making any 
move themselves. They could not understand 
in the least what was going on. One minute it 
seemed' to be all a game of “ make-believe,” and 
the next it was terrible earnest again. 

When some of the men pulled out great 
sword-like knives from their belts, it looked like 
murder outright, and the two Marys were very 
near to screaming ; but the men only cut branches 
from the trees, and bound them carefully and 
gently to the first man’s leg, with yards and 
yards of white cloth strips. 

They took his coat off, too, and wound more 
yards of the cloth around his chest. He pro- 
tested at this, and the children heard him say 



% 









THE MAN WHO RAN 


93 


indignantly, Ain't it bad enough to be shot 
through the lungs, without getting wet to the 
skin ? " 

That was too much for Mary ’n' Mary. Shot ! 
With one impulse they started out from their 
shelter. 

Oh, can't we help ? Is it very bad ? " fal- 
tered Mary Murray — and all the soldiers 
jumped, and turned and stared. 

What a pitiful spectacle it was ! Two little 
girls all soaked with rain, and trembling with 
the cold. The one with wet, dark curls clinging 
to her cheeks clasped a great sheaf of red wood 
lilies to her breast, and the one with the tangled 
mass of copper-bright hair gleaming under her 
dripping hat brim held a little basket, with a wet 
red napkin tucked over it. 

“ Help," indeed ! Somehody needed help 
pretty badly, — that was plain ! 

The wounded man sat up (stiffly, on account 
of the bandages), and the others gathered around 
the two children, asking a dozen questions at 


once. 


94 MARY MARY 

Mary ’n’ Mary tried to explain, but their 
teeth were chattering with cold and excitement, 
and it was hard work not to cry. 

Somehow, though, the men made out the 

story, — the eggs for Mrs. Preston, the lilies, 
and the tangled cow-paths all jumbled together. 

‘‘ And she’s held on to the eggs all through ! ” 
murmured the wounded soldier. ‘‘Well, of all 
the plucky kids ! ” 

He was trying to 
scramble to his feet, 
but the man who had 

been giving all the 

orders gave him a push with his boot-toe, not 
roughly, and rolled him over. 

“ Here, you keep quiet ! ” he said. “ For a 
man shot through the lungs, you’re a little too 
lively ! It’s a wonder if four men can’t look 
after two kids without the help of a gory casu- 
alty ! Hurry up with that stretcher, you fellows, 
and we’ll get ’em back to camp.” 

The “ casualty ” lay still, and groaned worse 
than ever; but just then he met the troubled. 



TH£ MAN WHO RAN 95 

tender gaze of a pair of soft gray eyes, and he 
stopped groaning and gave Mary Merington a 
long, solemn wink. 

After that she felt quite reassured, and whis- 
pered her conviction to Mary Murray that it 
was all just make-believe — he wasn’t hurt a bit ! 

It was such a relief to be with somebody, — 
to feel that they were safe and being taken care 
of, — that Mary ’n’ Mary were almost happy 
again. They almost forgot their discomfort and 
weariness, and looked on with great interest 
while the soldiers laid two birch poles on the 
ground, two feet apart, and wove a sort of rough 
mat between them, of the tough twigs and 
branches they had hewed off with the great, 
cruel-looking knives. 

Meanwhile the man who gave orders, whom 
the others called ‘‘ Corporal,” explained the 
game of “ make-believe ” to the little girls. 

He told them it was a field-day of the Am- 
bulance Corps of the militia; which meant that 
the soldiers whose duty it is to find and help the 
wounded in a real battle had made a camp in the 


96 


MARY N MARY 


woods, not far away, and were practising, so as 
to be ready to do their part if a war should come. 

The children knew 
very little of wars and 
battles, but they under- 
stood what he meant, 
— that it was all a 
grand, grown-up game of hide-and-seek, and 
that their soldier was not really hurt or fright- 
ened. Their spirits rose, and they smiled at 
him shyly when he also told them that at the 
camp was a big, warm fire, and something good 
to eat ! 

Then the wounded man was picked up and 
laid on the stretcher, and the corporal gave the 
order to “ double back to camp, before some 
people catch their death o’ cold ! ” 

Double ” seemed to mean to hurry through 
the woods at a great pace, the wounded man 
growling because his bearers joggled him and 
let the wet boughs hit his face. 

When they reached the road they fell into a 
trot, the two men with the stretcher leading, and 



THE MAN WHO RAN 97 

the others following, each holding a Mary by the 
hand. 

It was pretty hard for the little girls to keep 
up with the men’s long steps, but it did them 
good, for presently they were quite warm again ; 
and just as they were fairly out of breath the 
wood road came out suddenly into a wide, grassy 
opening, filled with a busy, noisy crowd of men 
in khaki. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE FIELD - HOSPITAL 

It was a strange and wonderful scene to the 
children, and they gazed about them with wide 
eyes as their “ stretcher party crossed the 
clearing. 

Under the trees at one side stood the empty 
baggage-wagons, the horses picketed near them, 
eating their dinner from the ground. 

A big gray tent stood out in the open, and a 
number of men swarmed around it, hammering 
pegs into the ground and fastening the tent-ropes 
to them in a tremendous hurry, while an officer 
stood by, watch in hand, timing them. 

But for most of the men the morning's drill 
was over, and now they were crowding around 
the big camp-fire in the middle of the field, laugh- 
ing, chaffing, and skylarking, like the boys they 
98 


THE FIELD - HOSPITAL 


99 


were, and very much in the way of the cook, 
whom they were all begging to hurry up that 
stew ! ” 

He was a fat, smiling black man, in a white 
apron, and he laughed in a fat, jolly way, as he 
answered them, and threatened 
them with his great long-handled 
ladle, when they jostled him. 

His cooking dishes were big- 
ger than wash-boilers, and the 
clouds of steam that poured up from them smelled 
of soup and coffee in a way to make any one wish 
it were dinner-time ! 

The children's party was the last to come in 
from the woods. The stretcher was placed care- 
fully on the ground under an open canvas shelter, 
where other stretchers and a few more white- 
bandaged wounded " men were gathered around 
an officer, who seemed to be examining the band- 
ages and teaching the men. 

Every one who spoke to this officer did so 
with one hand held up at the side of his hat in a 
funny way, and when he turned on his heel. 



lOO 


MARY MARY 


saying briskly, “ Well, now, what next ? Corporal 
Dunham, what is your case ? ” the children's 
corporal dropped Mary Murray's hand quickly, 
and raised his own to his hat brim in the same 
queer, stiff way. 

I don't quite know, captain," he answered. 
“Croup, I reckon, — but I am not very well 
posted in those things." 

This was not a proper way to talk to a captain, 
but the officer did not hear it. He was staring 


at Mary 'n' Mary as if they 
were elves or pixies, sprung out 



of the woods by magic. 


“ Where on earth did they 
drop from ? Who are they ? " 


“ I think they are the Babes in the Wood, 
sir," said the corporal ; and this time the officer 
heard him, and frowned and laughed, together. 

“ Discipline, Bob," he said warningly, and in 
the same moment he had Mary Merington in 
his arms. 

I think the captain must have had some chil- 
dren of his own at home, for he certainly knew 


THE FIELD - HOSPITAL 


lOI 


just how to hold a little girl, and how to talk to 
her. It wasn't a minute before Mary Merington 
was sitting on his knee under a canvas shelter 
before the big hot fire, warming her cold feet and 
hands, and chattering away to him as if he were 
an uncle, at least. And close by was Mary 
Murray, warm and cosy too, still guarding her 
egg basket, and answering the questions of the 
two lieutenants and a sergeant — who all called 
one another by their first names. 

Then the soup was ready, and the fat black 
cook announced dinner by beating on a tin pan 
with his big ladle ; and all the soldiers came 
crowding around the fire, and the hubbub and 
jolly confusion were greater than before, if that 
were possible ! 

Mary 'n' Mary ate their hot, savory beef-stew 
out of tin dishes, with big iron spoons, in perfect 
happiness and content; and, between the warmth 
and their fatigue and the good, comfortable food, 
were presently as drowsy as two sleepy kittens on 
the hearth-rug. 

All through dinner, however, they had kept 


102 


MARY 'n’ MARY 


their eyes open, and missed none of the 
fun. 

“ Look ! Mary Murray whispered once. 
“ There's our soldier ! ” 

He seemed to have quite recovered from his 
broken leg and wounded lungs, for the bandages 
had disappeared, and he was the centre of the 
liveliest group of all ; but they knew him by the 
laughing eyes and curly hair. 

Just then he happened to look their way, and 
saw two eager pairs of watching eyes, — the brown 
and the gray, — and he met their gaze across the 
fire with the kind of smile that said they were good 
friends of his, and he was fond of them both. 

After that, wherever he went, the little girls 
knew where he was; and they listened for his 


pleasant laugh, and watched 
the progress of a friendly 
wrestling match with the 
. deepest interest. 



As soon as they had had 


their dinner, and were thoroughly warm and dry, 
the captain prepared .to send them home, — in 


THE FIELD - HOSPITAL 


103 


military state, with an escort of honor ! One of 
the baggage-wagons was loaded, ready to return 
to the city, and a detail of men was ordered up 
to go with it. Among these the little girls were 
pleased to see “ their soldier.*' 

Each Mary was bundled up in a big, warm 
soldier’s cloak. As she stood by the wagon 
waiting, Mary Murray heard the new friend’s 
voice up above her say, “ Give me the plucky 
one,” and the next moment she was picked up 
like a baby, swung through the air, and found 
herself sitting beside her soldier on a great roll of 
tent canvas. 

The heavy wagon bumped along through the 
deep ruts of the wood road, — presently bumped 
harder over the stones of a causeway, along the 
edge of a great meadow, — and then Mary 
Murray caught her breath in a great gasp of fright. 

“ Why, this is the Causeway ! Were we on 
Dark Swamp Island ? ” 

“ Of course,” answered the soldier. “ Didn’t 
you know it Hadn’t you crossed the Cause- 


104 MARY ’n’ MARY 

“ No/’ said Mary, in a very low voice. She 
felt suddenly cold again. “I — don’t know — 
how we got there ! ” 

It was the soldier’s turn to look scared. 

“ Good heavens ! ” he said. “ Do you mean 
you came through the swamp ? ” 

But Mary did not answer: her heart was 
beating hard at the thought of the danger past. 

Not a child in Berket but had grown up in 
wholesome dread of “ Dark Swamp,” with its 
tangled woods, dangerous bogs, and black water, 
running back for miles among the hills. Never, 
never must a little girl put so much as one fool- 
hardy foot within its borders, — not even to pick 
the tempting little pitchers of 
the side-saddle flowers, or 
the dainty pink arethusas that 
grew among the tall wet grass 
of the great meadows, just 
inside its edge. 

Mary 'n’ Mary must have crossed only a 
small corner of the swamp, — but suppose they 
had not happened to keep to the left, as they 



THE FIELD - HOSPITAL 


105 


pushed blindly through the wilderness of alder 
and witch-hazel ? And what if the soldier had 
not happened to turn into that particular little 
path in his game of hide-and-seek with his 
rescuers ? 

These thoughts were enough to keep them 
both silent for awhile. He felt her shiver a 
little, and he pulled the big cloak up closer about 
her, and held it there with his arm, as tight as 
though the danger was not all safely over. 

The heavy wagon bumped and rattled across 
the Causeway, lurched up into the woods again, 
and rumbled on under the dripping boughs. 

Mary’s head was nodding with weariness, and 
some extra big bump would surely have pitched 
her out of the wagon, if the strong arm had not 
been around her. At last her head nodded over 
against the soldier’s coat, and rested there, while 
she snuggled comfortably against him and dreamily 
watched the trees go by. 

By and by they rumbled out of the woods into 
the highway ; and after another long, sleepy mile, 
the wagon turned a sharp corner, and Mary 


MARY ’n* MARY 


io6 

roused herself as it splashed through the ruts and 
puddles of McGowan’s Lane, and stopped before 
the Murray house. 

Things looked oddly around the Murray 
house. There were quite a number of people in 
the little yard ; neighbors, 
with shawls or aprons over 
their heads, — for the rain 
was only a slight drizzle 
by now. 

A covered carriage stood 
before the gate, and a gen- 
tleman was standing on the doorstep talking with 
Mrs. Murray, whose round red face looked 
anxious and distressed. 

The children were lifted from the wagon and 
carried across the puddles to the gate. Mary 
Murray’s soldier kept her in his arms. They 
were behind the others, and just before they 
reached the gate he stopped, gave her a big, 
strong hug and a kiss, and then set her quickly 
on her feet. Mary flashed one bright, warm 
smile up into his face, and walked quietly into 



THE FIELD - HOSPITAL 


107 


the yard, with her basket of eggs in her hand. 
Every one had turned to meet the newcomers, 
and there was an outcry of exclamations and 
questions, as the women pressed around them ; 
but clear above it rose the voice of Mary Mering- 
ton. “ Why, there's papa ! Papa ! " 

The gentleman on the steps was off the steps 
in an instant, and snatched his daughter from the 
soldier's arms. 

“ Thank God ! Thank God 1 " he said. And 
then for a minute nobody said a word, but some 
of the young soldiers sniffed and cleared their 
throats, and the women wiped their eyes. 

But Mary Merington, safe in her father’s arms, 
was full of happy excitement, and eager to tell 
her story. Again the eggs and the bruised and 
broken remnants of the lilies were brought into 
evidence, and Papa Merington smiled as he 
looked at Mary Murray and her little basket. 

When he had put his own Mary into the car- 
riage, he stopped and bound the other one by a 
solemn compact to save for him every egg her 
chickens laid, even if it was three apiece all around. 


io8 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


And Mary Murray, with a deep sigh of relief and 
pleasure, promised that she would. 

Then the carnage rolled quickly away, to take 
gray-eyed Mary home to her 
mother ; and brown-eyed Mary 
turned around to see her soldier 
shaking hands with her big 
brother Larry, and slapping him 
on the back as though delighted 
to see him. 

Larry was the oldest of the Murrays, and was 
not Mary’s favorite brother, — in fact, he was 
rather a surly fellow at home, and apt to order 
the little sister about. But now he seemed as 
pleased and friendly as the other, whom he called 
“ Dick.’’ 

From their talk Mary, who was listening with 
one ear while she answered her mother’s questions, 
found they had been chums at school some years 
ago, before Larry left to work in the machine- 
shop. The soldier had remained in school and 
graduated, then had ‘‘ got a job ” in the city ten 
miles away, and the two had not met since. 



THE FIELD - HOSPITAL 


109 


He promised to come out and see them soon, 
and then, with a parting shake of the hand and 
one of his bright, friendly smiles for Mary, he 
was gone, and the heavy wagon jolted and 
rumbled away up the lane. 


CHAPTER XL 


LARRY 

After the adventure in Dark Swamp, — which 
ended so well and might have ended so ill, — 
there were no more adventures of any sort for 
Mary 'n’ Mary, for awhile. 

Mary Murray came up to the big house every 
morning, to be sure, with her little basket of 
eggs, and a strip of red flannel around her neck ; 
but the more delicate Mary Merington was kept 
in the house for some days with a bad sore 
throat. 

It was rather a doleful week for both the 
Marys, though they had the little egg visit ” in 
the mornings to console them ; and one rainy 
day when there was no school, a long, happy 
afternoon together up-stairs, in ‘‘ mamma’s room,” 
with its cosy grate fire and the desk and books. 


10 


Larry 


Hi 


and the broad, old-fashioned couch, piled with 
pillows, and big enough to keep house or go to 
sea in. 

One day Mary Murray brought news with her. 

“ Our soldier,'* Dick Saunders, had kept his 
promise and come 
again to see Larry. 

He had even stayed 
to supper ; and al- 
though shyness and 
a very clear knowl- 
edge of her oldest 
brother's views re- 
specting children had prevented Mary from see- 
ing much of him, she had had a happy quarter 
of an hour after supper, while Larry was out of 
the way, leaning on his knee, and talking over 
the wonderful events of the “ Field-day." 

It was not quite so pleasant that he had en- 
gaged Larry to make a return visit to him in the 
city on the following Saturday. The Murray 
children all dreaded Larry's Saturday trips to 
town. He usually got home very late and very 



I 12 


MARY 'n’ MARY 


noisy, and he was sure to be in such a surly tem- 
per the next day that even the boys kept out of 
his way. There were quarrels and reproaches 
between him and the elders, too, and a general 
sense of things gone wrong. 

So it was with a vague feeling of regret, almost 
of pain, that Mary thought of her new friend 
and Larry together in the city. She did not 
want to associate the idea of Dick Saunders with 
those disagreeable Saturdays and Sundays. 

But she did not tell all this to Mary 
Merington. 

Meanwhile those wonderful hens ‘^just laid 
and laid,'' as the children said, and one day 
Mary Murray appeared in 
mamma's room," bringing 
with her the little red bank in 
her two hands. 

‘‘ Oh, oh, is it full ? " cried 
Mary Merington, jumping up 
from the hearth-rug, and dropping her favorite 
fairy-book. She took the bank in both hands 
and weighed it anxiously, her whole heart in the 



LARRY 


II3 

effort to judge its value. Surely it was heavy 
enough now, — there must be two dollars, — 
more than two dollars ! 

Side by side on the hearth-rug the two heads, 
dark and bright, bent over the obstinate little 
bank, which stubbornly refused to give up the 
treasure it had held so long. 

They shook it, they stood it on its head, — 
they poked with hat-pins in the slot, — and one 
by one the reluctant pennies and nickels and 
dimes dropped out upon the rug. 

Eighty — ninety — a dollar — a dollar and — 
yes, two dollars ; ten — fifteen — twenty-five — 
thirty — and a big round quarter for the last ! 
(How long he had been lurking behind all the 
rest, to come out grandly, at the very end !) 
Gray eyes and brown danced with joy ; the ruffiy 
dress was certain, now, and the new hair-ribbon, 
too ! 

And so it proved. Mary Murray and her 
mother made the shopping trip to ‘‘ the Centre,” 
and brought home the ruffiy frock in triumph, 
and a neat little pair of shiny shoes, also, besides 


II4 


MARY ’n* MARY 


the crisp, wide, white ribbon, to tie up the bonny 
brown hair. 

And when on Exhibition Day” two hundred 
children marched through South Berket^s Main 
Street to the South Berket Town Hall, with tap 
of drums and waving school flags, there was not 
a prettier nor a happier little maid among them 
all than Mary Murray. 

Mary Merington and her mother sat in the 
carriage by the common to watch the fluttering 
white procession pass, and waved their handker- 
chiefs to the proud leader of the 
Second District. 

“ Isn’t she lovely, mamma ? Oh, 
aren’t you glad ? ” cried Mary, in 
incoherent delight and pride. She 
was looking at the ruffly dress and 
shiny shoes, but mamma, as she 
nodded and smiled her sympathy, 
saw, also, the bright head carried 
so high and resolutely, and wondered anew 
what made the child so different from the 
rest.” 



LARRY 1 15 

And now it was vacation at last! No more 
school, for all summer long! 

Plenty of housework, to be sure ; plenty of 
running errands and minding Baby Joe, — but 
much of these could be shared with a devoted 
friend ; and work done in company is almost as 
good as play. 

Little Mike ate so much clover it was a won- 
der he did not burst, and grew so big that Mamma 
Merington was almost frightened, sometimes, to 
see her delicate little daughter leading the pretty 
creature about with her arm around its neck. 

Several times the children saw ‘‘ their soldier,” 
who came out on Saturday afternoons to go 
fishing with Larry. 

He was always pleasant and friendly with the 
little girls, sometimes lingering to talk and laugh 
with them when Larry was impatient to be off. 

But still that little sense of regret hovered in 
Mary Murray’s mind. She felt dimly that her 
brother was not good company for her friend, 
and she often watched Dick with wistful, anxious 
eyes that puzzled the careless, good-humored 


MARY MARY 


1 16 

young fellow. She did not want him to be 
like Larry/' but she never would tell him, when 
he asked, what made her look like that ; and she 
never said a word to Mary Merington. There 
were no puzzles nor worries in her happy, love- 
filled world ; and Mary Murray, who loved her, 
too, would not cast a shadow on its sunshine. 

Yet, after all, strange and sad as it seems, the 
shadow fell at last, and it was Mary Murray her- 
self who brought it there. 

It was late one afternoon that the Marys were 
skipping merrily up the lane, and met Larry 
coming down. 

Mary Merington had always been a little 
afraid of this big, burly, sullen-looking Murray, 
though she had seen him very rarely, and he 
took no notice at all of her. But to-day there 
was something strange about him that made her 
shrink still more from meeting him, and wish 
nervously that there were any other way home. 
He walked unsteadily, as though he were dizzy, 
and his face was flushed a dull, dark red. When 
he saw the children it looked really ugly, and he 


LARRY 


II7 


Stopped them, asking his sister roughly where 
she was going at that time of night. 

Gentle Mary Merington resented his rude 
tone : she stiffened a little, and 
felt less timid ; and into Mary 
Murray’s brown eyes sprang a 
little red spark of anger. The 
other Mary winced again to see it, 
fearing sharp words ; but to her 
surprise her friend stood stock-still — her little 
back very straight and head high, as Mary 
Murray always stood — and answered Larry 
quietly, though the light was still in her eyes. 

But the quiet answer did not appease Larry, 
for he told her, still more roughly, to come along 
home where she belonged, and lurching toward 
her grasped her by the shoulder, — too small a 
shoulder for so heavy a hand. 

Mary Merington stood staring in painful be- 
wilderment. It was amazing ! — for still Mary 
Murray did not flash out in anger, as she had so 
often seen her do under less provocation. She 
seemed to shrink together a little under the 



Il8 MARY 'n* MARY 

rough grasp, and made a movement as though 
trying to slip out from under his hand. 

And then — then Larry struck her ! — a brutal, 
heavy blow on the slender childish shoulder. 

It was Mary Merington who screamed, — 
Mary Merington who flew at him and tried to 
tear his hand away, forgetting all her fears, and 
sobbing out her passionate protest, — ‘‘Oh, how 
can you? You are a coward — a coward, to 
strike a girl ! ” 

It seemed for a moment as though Larry 
would strike her, too. His scowl as he turned 
on her was black enough to have terrified an 
older, braver person. But he had just sense 
enough not to do that; he only growled at her 
to mind her own business and go home. 

And still Mary Murray did not move, — did 
not speak ! But she turned a very white face 
toward her friend, and parted her lips just enough 
to shape the words, “ Go ! Go ! without a 
sound. 

There was a strange look in her eyes, — a look 
that somehow made Mary Merington obey her. 


LARRY 


II9 

even while she told herself wildly that she could 
not — would not — leave her so ! 

No wonder she could not understand those 
eyes ! How could a petted, sheltered child know 
the meaning of such a look? Shame — fear — 
helpless rage, all blent together. It was a look 
to break your heart, in a child’s eyes. 

It drove Mary Merington to do her will, — to 
slip past them and move up the lane with unwill- 
ing, dragging feet, looking backward in a panic 
of fear for her Mary. 

She saw them going slowly toward home, mov- 
ing unsteadily ; and she could see that Larry 
leaned heavily on the small shoul- 
der that was braced painfully to bear 
his weight. 

When the turn of the lane hid 
them from sight, she turned and ran 
toward home. Her heart seemed 
too heavy for her feet to carry, but 
with every step her fever of haste 
increased, until she threw herself upon her mother 
and sobbed out the dreadful story. 



120 MARY ’n’ MARY 

“ Oh, mamma, she was afraid — Mary was 
afraid of him ! I never saw her afraid of any- 
body before ! And she made me go, and leave 
her all alone ! ” 

Her mother’s eyes were full of tears as she 
tried to soothe and comfort her. To Mary’s 
wild pleading, “ What can we do, mamma ? What 
can we do ? ” she answered, softly, “ Only love 
her, dear, and make her as happy as we can.” 
But in her heart she, too, was crying, ‘‘ Poor 
child ! Poor child ! What can we do for her ? ” 


CHAPTER XII. 





\ 


A BIRTHDAY COMING 

Next morning Mary Merington was posted 
at the window of the breakfast-room as usual, to 
watch for Mary Murray and the eggs ; but she 
could not help feeling a little 
nervous and anxious, until the 
little egg merchant came in sight, 
away down the driveway. 

Mary Murray waved her 
hand as usual, and as she came up the steps she 
flashed her own bright, brown-eyed smile at the 
welcoming faces above her. She seemed in every 
way just the same Mary as always, and Mary 
Merington almost believed that cruel scene in 
the lane must have been a bad dream of her 
own. 

Later on, however, she did perceive a little 



121 


122 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


difference, when she found that Mary Murray 
would not talk about it. When questioned, she 
said briefly that she ‘^got home all right,*' and 
“ No, Larry had not — hurt her — again.” And 
that was all that she would say. 

So Mary Merington, being sympathetic and 
tactful, dropped the subject, and both Marys 
soon seemed to have forgotten it altogether. 

But after that, without any talk about it, they 
rather avoided the lane, and all their playtime 
was spent in the Merington grounds. 

Probably Mamma Merington had more to do 
with this than they suspected. At least, she was 
more wonderful than ever in inventing pleasant 
ways to pass the time ; and she played croquet 
with them, and bought them a set of those pretty 
grace-hoops, that look so easy, but take your 
breath away in such an astonishingly short time. 

Oh, yes, Mary Murray was happy ; it was far 
the happiest summer she had ever known, al- 
though the worries at home did not grow less as 
the weeks went by. 

Dick Saunders came out to fish less often now, 


A BIRTHDAY COMING 


123 


but on the other hand Larry spent much of his 
time (for work was slack that summer) in the 
city, and what time he did spend at home was 
still more uncomfortable for the family than it 
used to be. 

Other friends sometimes came idling down the 
lane with him, on a Saturday or Sunday, one or 
two of whom Mary, watching silently from a 
distance, severely disapproved. She had always 
disapproved of her brother Larry, more or less, 
and these rough and idle young fellows, she pri- 
vately decided, were “ much more 
so ” than Larry. She kept care- 
fully out of their way, with Baby 
Joe. 

But once inside the big iron 
gates of the Merington place, she was free from 
every care or troubled thought. The place was 
home to her, but not for the sake of its luxury 
and beauty ; it was the love which she felt in the 
faces and voices of these new friends, to which 
she responded with a childish passion of devotion. 

And now a new pleasure was coming ; so great 



124 


MARY ’n’ MARY 

a pleasure that Mary 'n' Mary were both a-tip- 
toe with delightful expectation. 

Mary Merington was going to have a birthday 
party ! 

It was the first one she had had since she 
could rememberj for something had always pre- 
vented. Last summer it was whooping-cough ; 
for two summers before that they had been trav- 
elling ; and beyond six years old the memories 
of Mary did not go. 

But this was to ‘ be a real party, with nine 
guests, making ten children in all, one for each 
of the happy, sunny years of her life. 

Mary 'n’ Mary, — there were two to begin 
with ; three cousins, who would luckily be there 
at just the right time, stopping over on their way 
from their summer home on the North Shore to 
New York, — that made five; and the others 
would come from the city and its suburbs, winter 
playmates and school friends of Mary Mering- 
ton's. 

In all this pleasant planning and preparation 
Mary Murray had her full share. To do or 


A BIRTHDAY COMING 1 25 

plan anything without her help would not have 
occurred nowadays to Mary Merington. 

And Mary Murray, — perhaps she felt a little 
timidity at the idea of so many strange children, 
— all, too, of such a different world from hers. 
If she had been simply invited to the party when 
the time came, I think she would have been too 
shy, perhaps too proud, to go. But to be in it 
all beforehand, in all the talking over and getting 
ready — that was the very pleasantest part of it. 
Both the Marys felt it to be quite as much her 
party as the little hostess’s herself; and Mamma 
Merington was secretly surprised to find how 
really helpful and full of bright 
ideas the child was. 

It was she who suggested 
the bean-bags, and mamma, 
remembering how she had enjoyed them in her 
little-girl days, bought the brightest, gayest- 
flowered print she could find for covers, and 
Mary ’n’ Mary cheerfully pricked their fingers 
sewing them up. 

At last it was the day before the birthday. 



126 


MARY 'n' MARY 


Aunt Adelaide and the cousins were to arrive 
on the five o’clock train, and stay till the morn- 
ing after the party. 

Before it was nearly time to expect the car- 
riage, Mary was on the watch for the first 
glimpse of the visitors, down the road. 

And so it came about that their first glimpse of 
her was one that surprised them very much indeed. 

She was standing by the roadside as they ap- 
proached the gates ; the same gentle little Mary 
they had always known, dainty and delicate in 
her white frock and long, soft curls. But in her 
hands was a strong, rough rope, and at the other 
end of the rope, prancing jerkily on stiff legs, 
and shaking her lowered head in alarming play- 
fulness, was what the cousins called, in startled 
chorus, a cow ! ” 

In fact, it was Mike, who by this time was 
almost big enough to be called a heifer, at least, 
and had a sharp little pair of horns of her own, 
which she was only too ready to use in a frolic. 

Mary and Mike had been having a merry time 
together while they waited, and now Mary uncon- 


A BIRTHDAY COMING 


127 


sciously pulled this astonishing pet along with her 
as she ran to meet and kiss her cousins, who, on 
their part, were not at all anxious to meet 
Mike. 

“ For mercy's sake, child, keep that beast 
away ! " cried Aunt Adelaide ; and the twins, 
Elizabeth and Elinor, who had jumped from the 
carriage, shrieked and fled- as Mary approached 
them full of eager aflFection. 

But Rodney, the boy, laughed. He was two 
years older than his sisters, and he had expected, 
privately, to be badly bored by this ‘‘ girls’ 
affair.” Now he was not so sure of it. 

He kissed Mary heartily, then got hold of the 
rope and gave her a chance to greet and reas- 
sure the frightened twins. 

Taking this for an in- 
troduction, Mike lowered 
those sharp little horns and 
butted him, in a friendly 
way ; and it was the girls’ 
turn to laugh when little Mary had to run to his 



rescue. 


128 


MARY ’n' MARY 


Just at this point Mike's owner appeared, 
running up the road in search of the bossy just 
as on the day when the two Marys first met, — 
but what a difference now ! 

They all turned, as Mary Merington hailed 
her joyously, and watched her with much curi- 
osity as she came toward the carriage. She was 
a splendid child, with her vivid coloring, straight, 
vigorous little body, and clear, straightforward 
look. 

Mary Merington introduced her “ best friend ” 
prettily, first to Aunt Adelaide and then to the 
cousins. 

Rod looked her square in the eyes, shook 
hands, and decided she was a good fellow ; " 
but his sisters looked her over a little cautiously. 
They were rather worldly-wise little people, com- 
pared to their cousin Mary, and they wondered 
who she was, and what she was, — this girl 
who played with horned cattle on the high- 
way. 

But Aunt Adelaide was impatient to go on. 
(She, too, felt a little doubtful of the strange 


A BIRTHDAY COMING 129 

playmate, and intended to make inquiries when 
she reached the house.) 

So they parted from Mary Murray and Mike, 
and the other four children were all crowded 
into the carriage, some- 
how, for the short re- 
mainder of the trip. 

Aunt Adelaide made 
her inquiries that eve- 
ning, while the bedtime 
romp, up-stairs, was at 
its height. I doubt, 
myself, whether she was 
very well satisfied with the information she ob- 
tained. At least, it was in a very protesting 
voice that she exclaimed at the end of the talk, 
“ But, May, the child seems to be absolutely 
running wild ! '' 

Mamma Merington’s eyes and thoughts were 
partly on the nursery riot, which she was enjoying 
as much as the young folks ; so she only smiled, 
and answered, absently, “Yes, — yes, I believe 
she is, now. At first, I was afraid she wouldn’t.'* 



130 MARY MARY 

May Merington ! What do you mean?” 
cried Aunt Adelaide, amazed. 

Then Mamma Merington laughed, and ex- 
plained. 


CHAPTER XlII. 


THE BIRTHDAY MORNING 

Not even Mary Merington, dear child as she 
was, could have deserved a brighter, lovelier 
birthday than that next morning. 

At a much earlier hour than usual she came 
pattering barefoot through the dressing-room 
to claim her birthday kisses from father and 
mother. 

She got the kisses, — full measure of them, 
and perhaps a few extra ones thrown in. And 
also, after a grand romping frolic with papa, she 
pounced upon and captured the little white velvet 
box under his pillow, which he pretended to be 
hiding so carefully. 

“ Oh, me, oh, my ! ” she sighed, with perfect 
happiness as she opened it, I didn’t know what 


1^2 MARY ’n' MARY 

it was I wanted the most of anything, but this is 
it ! ” And she clasped the string of little gold 
beads around her neck, over the frills of her 
nightgown, and perched herself at her mother’s 
dressing-glass to enjoy the effect. 

Only mamma’s suggestion that it was nearly 
time for Mary Murray and the eggs induced her 
at last to run back to her own room, in a hurry 
to dress and go down to show her treasure. 

Then came a squeal of fresh rapture ; for dur- 
ing the frolic mamma had slipped away, and 
smuggled her own gift into Mary’s room. 

There it was, laid out on the bureau, a lovely, 
‘‘grown-up” set, of ivory, just like mamma’s 
own, only that the mono- 
gram on brushes and boxes 
was of ruby red enamel in- 
stead 

The pleasure of using- the pretty things has- 
tened her toilet considerably, and presently she 
was ready to run down and watch for Mary, the 
precious gold beads clasped above her simple 
little morning suit of blue linen. 




THE BIRTHDAY MORNING IJJ 

But on the veranda a little disappointment 
was waiting to sober her high spirits. 

It stood — the disappointment — on a piazza 
chair, placed carefully before the door to insure 
attention. It was a little round basket, carefully 
covered with a red napkin, and under the napkin 
were three large, brown eggs. No word, no 
sign, but this. Mary Murray had come and 
gone ! 

‘‘ Why, why do you suppose, mamma ? ” 
grieved Mary Merington. “ And on my birth- 
day, too, just think ! Why didn’t she wait and 
see my beads, and brush and combs and things ? ” 

And mamma, sorry to see even a little cloud 
on the bright day, thought at once of a dozen 
good reasons for this unusual haste ; and finally 
allowed her to go and wake up Elinor and Eliza- 
beth, to divert her mind. 

The diversion was so successful that at last 
it took the assistance and persuasion of two 
mothers to get all the shoes and hair-ribbons tied 
in time for breakfast. 

Elinor and Elizabeth were full of merry 


134 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


hints, that their mother tried in vain to check, 
about their birthday gifts. Mary could not 
make out why, if there were 
gifts, they were not forth- 
coming at once ; but she was 
quite content to wait and let 
the pleasant mystery solve itself ‘‘by and by,” as 
they assured her that it would. These rarely 
seen cousins were pleasure enough for the present. 

Nevertheless, she did not forget Mary Murray. 
All through the gay chatter of the breakfast- 
table, and the pleasant excitement of showing her 
cousins about the place afterward, the gray eyes 
kept glancing down the driveway, on the watch 
for the “ best friend,” and what Mary Murray 
did, and what Mary Murray said, came into the 
talk so often that one could hardly blame the 
girl cousins for feeling a little pique. 

They were nice children, and they said noth- 
ing that was not nice ; but somehow their ques- 
tions about Mary Murray — her home, her 
family, her circumstances — made her loyal 
friend feel uncomfortable without knowing why. 



THE BIRTHDAY MORNING I35 

Circumstances ’’ had never entered her head 
before. She had taken Mary Murray's surround- 
ings as a matter of course, just as she did her 
own. But though she did not understand, she 
could feel that her friend was being disparaged, 
and her face grew sober, and her replies were 
carefully polite and serious. 

At last, however, when the visitors proposed 
exploring the pine grove on the hill, and their 
hostess demurred on the ground that Mary Mur- 
ray might come while they were gone, Elinor’s 
patience gave way a little. 

But can’t we do a single thing till ‘ Mary 
Murray ’ comes ? ” she asked, half laughing .but 
half petulant. “ Why must everything wait for 
her?” 

Mary turned and looked straight into her 
cousin’s face, her gray eyes darkening a trifle. 
‘‘ Because,” she said, very gently and distinctly, 
Mary Murray is my best friend, and I love her 
best of any one in the world, except mamma and 
papa.” 

Good for you, Mary ! Stick up for your 


136 


MARY 'n’ MARY 


friends ! said Rodney, joining in the talk un- 
expectedly. He had said little until now; Rod- 
ney never did say much, and he had found 
the stables and garden and grounds interesting 
enough without paying much attention to the 
girls’ chatter. So his sudden backing surprised 
and embarrassed Mary almost as much as it did 
his sister, who hastened to change the subject, 
though she wore an aggrieved air for awhile. 

But they all understood very clearly. When 
Mary Merington said “best friend” she meant 
exactly that; and Mary Murray was to be ac- 
cepted for what she was and as she was. 

Rodney turned back to give Mary a handful 
of blackberries, and helped her over the stone 


wall very carefully. He 
liked this little cousin. He 



began to think she was a 
“ good fellow,” too, small 


and gentle as she was. 

Just then, when the children all felt a little 
constrained, came the sudden relief of Mary’s 
joyful cry, “There she is!” 


THE BIRTHDAY MORNING I37 

Yes, there came Mary Murray, hurrying up the 
drive, flushed with haste, but smiling and eager. 

The other Mary ran to meet her, and the 
cousins followed, all glad of the diversion, and 
rather grateful to Mary Murray for making her 
appearance at just the right minute. 

So perhaps they welcomed her the more cor- 
dially on that account; but in any case she 
would not have noticed any lack, she was so 
pleasantly absorbed in her errand. 

She had brought her birthday gift to Mary 
Merington. 

Mary received the little brown paper parcel 
with delight, and stopped to kiss the giver before 
she untied the string. Then, ‘‘ Oh, you dear I ” 
she cried. “ How pretty ! how pretty I ” 

And it was pretty, — a little slender vase of clear 
plain glass, with a wavy, petal-like flare at the top. 

Mary Murray stood quite silent while the 
others examined and praised it, her brown eyes 
shining with happiness as they watched the pleas- 
ure in the gray eyes. She had been waiting 
many days for this moment. 


MARY 'n’ MARY 


138 

It had happened a week or two before, that 
while the two Marys were playing in Mary Mer- 
ington’s room, a little china vase, much prized 
and cherished, had been dropped and broken ; 
and Mary Merington had cried. 

It was the first time (excepting that terrible 
day in Dark Swamp) that Mary Murray had 
ever seen her new friend in trouble ; and her 
loving heart was filled with a passion of sympathy 
and longing to make it up to her. And day by 
day ever since, she had planned and saved and 
counted her pennies, till this very morning 
she had found she had enough for her pur- 
pose. 

It was a happy moment for both the Marys. 

Gray-eyed Mary ran up the steps to show the 
pretty present to her mother ; and brown-eyed 
Mary followed rather shyly at Mamma Mering- 
ton's call and smile. 

Mamma and Aunt Adelaide were both pleased 
with the vase, and praised it warmly ; but for 
some reason Aunt Adelaide seemed to be sur- 
prised, too. She raised her eyebrows at mamma. 


THE BIRTHDAY MORNING 


139 



and shaped the word “ taste with her lips ; and 
mamma answered with a smiling, triumphant 
little nod. She was not surprised that Mary 
Murray should have “ taste.*' 

None of the children saw this 
by-play but Elinor. She under- 
stood it; and thereafter she re- 
garded both the vase and its 
giver with much more respect. 

Mamma put her arm around Mary Murray 
with a motherly squeeze. ‘‘ Where did you find 
it, dear ? " she asked. ‘‘ I didn't know there was 
such a pretty thing in Berket." 

“It was in the big store at the Centre. I saw 
it ever so long ago, — when 1 got my dress, you 
know. I thought it was pretty. So I went 
this morning, and it wasn't sold : wasn't that 
lucky ? " 

“ But, Mary ! Why, dear child, you don't 
mean you have been to Berket Centre and back 
this morning, in all this heat ? " 

That was just what Mary had done : that was 
why she had brought the eggs so early, and had 


140 


MARY 'n' MARY 


hurried away without the little morning visit she 
so dearly enjoyed. 

Mamma did not say much ; but she kissed 
the hot cheeks, and kept Mary beside her a little 
while, to get cool and rested, before the children 
carried her off to see the preparations for the 
party. 

There were the flowers, 
everywhere, and the games, 
laid out ready. It took some 
time to see them all, and 
when the children came out- 
doors again to escort Mary 
Murray to the gate, it was 
Aunt Adelaide herself who suggested that 
Mary should stay to luncheon, and save going 
home. 

“ Oh, no, ma’am, I couldn’t,” said the little 
girl, simple and frank as always. You know I 
must be home to mind Joe, while mother gets 
dinner. And besides,” she added, with a little 
smile of anticipation, I have to put on my 
party dress!” (It was funny that Aunt Ade- 



THE BIRTHDAY MORNING I4I 

laide, of all people, should have forgotten that !) 
“ But I will come back just as soon as the dishes 
are washed,” Mary promised. 

So they had to let her go. 



CHAPTER XIV. 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 

Mary must have been a very fast dish-washer, 
for in an incredibly short time after luncheon she 
appeared again, this time in festal array, — the 
shiny little shoes, the ruffly dress, and the big 
white bow to crown the burnished copper mass 
of her hair. 

“ Something peculiar, — noticeable, — about 
her,*’ Aunt Adelaide said there was, and it was 
quite true ; but what Mamma Merington noticed 
chiefly was the quick, wistful look of inquiry that 
met her eyes, seeking approval ; and her motherly 
smile in return gave it heartily. 

And Mary Merington, — her fond pride was 
like a mother’s, too. Her aflFection for her friend 
and her feeling of intimate, joint possessorship of 
the pretty ruffly frock were mingled in a sense 


142 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY I43 

of perfect satisfaction. To her, Mary Murray 
was the best part of her party. 

It almost seemed as though she were to the 
other children, also. She did not mean to take 
the lead, nor was she conscious of doing it ; but 
she was so brimful of life and brightness and 
invention that it nearly always happened so, 
wherever she was. 

Mamma had intended to see that the children 
were occupied and amused while they waited for 
the arrival of the other half of the party ; but 
before she knew it the new bean-bags were out, 
and all five were so busy and so gay that they 
forgot to watch the road till they fairly heard the 
carriage wheels on the driveway. Then there 
was a merry race, bean-bags and all, to meet and 
welcome the newcomers. 

Four girls there were, and one boy, invited on 
Rodney's account. 

Each guest brought a mysterious little parcel 
of some sort ; and in the confusion of greetings 
and introductions these were smuggled into 
mamma's hands and out of sight, right under the 


144 


MARY MARY 


birthday Mary’s unconscious little nose. She 
had quite forgotten that feature of birthdays by 
now, and noticed nothing. 

They began at once with their 
favorite outdoor games. Mary ’n’ 
Mary had had their heads together 
days beforehand over the pro- 
gramme, and there was certainly 
variety enough to please everybody. 

There were the good old ring 
games, — “ Hunt the handker- 
chief,” and ‘‘ Hunt the squirrel 
through the woods,” and “ Here we go round 
the barberry bush,” in which Mary Murray 
must be the leader, because she could always 
think of funny new things to do. 

Then Mary’s own favorite “ Duck on a rock ” 
had its turn, and the two boys were rather sur- 
prised to find that she could throw as straight and 
run as fast as either of them. In fact, the other 
girls presently dropped out and left those three 
to play it out together, while mamma taught the 
rest some of the old, old games that she used to 



THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 1 45 

play, — and I suppose her grandmother before 
her, for they must be a hundred years old at least, 
— like “ London Bridge is falling down,'* and 
“ I'm going to Lady Washington's, to buy a cup 
of tea." 

When they were too warm and tired to 
run and shout any more, there was the croquet 
set ready ; and then a 
tray appeared, filled 
with little cups of cold, 
rosy sherbet, and they 
all dropped down on the broad stone steps to 
sip, and fan themselves, and consider what to do 
next. 

Mamma settled the question by bringing out 
a paper bag, and asking who would be “ it " 
for “Japanese Hide-and-seek." 

It was Rod's turn ; and they were all very 
much puzzled and curious when she began to 
fill his pockets with rice from the bag ! 

Then she explained that it was just like a paper 
chase, except that he was to scatter the rice instead 
of paper scraps. This would make it harder to 



1^6 MARY MARY 

find him, so the children begged Rodney to use 
plenty of the rice ; and then they went indoors to 
give him three minutes' start. 

Then the chase began. Little folks' eyes are 
wonderfully quick, and they followed the pearly 
grains over the gravel and through the short 
grass very much faster than mamma or Aunt 
Adelaide could have done it ! 

Rodney had thought himself quite safe among 
the thick, bushy branches of a little copper beech- 
tree ; but it was not five minutes before he was 
discovered and pulled down in triumph. 

Then the other boy, Gilbert, wanted to try. 
He had an idea that he thought very funny, and 
he chuckled over it as he made two new rules for 
the game. First, he must be tagged in order to 
be considered caught ; and secondly, Rodney was 
not to play ! 

That young gentleman naturally objected ; but 
when Gilbert whispered his plan, Rodney seemed 
even more amused than himself, and laughed till 
the little girls were quite indignant. 

Gilbert scattered his rice so lavishly that they 



i 




























THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 


149 


followed with hardly a check, straight to the 
boundary wall, — over it, and along to the left, — 
and then they saw the joke ! 

There was Gilbert, not hidden at all; hut — 
he sat with his back against the wall, and close in 
front of him lay a pretty Jersey heifer, serenely 
chewing her cud. He thought they wouldn’t 
dare! 

Well, he was partly right. Most of the girls 
did fall back in dismay, with little screams and 
laughter and reproaches of “ no fair 1 ” 

But two of them — and one the smallest and 
most timid of all — did nothing of the kind. 
One simply hopped over Mike, and the other 
actually knelt on top of her, and reached over ; 
and they both tagged him, at the same 
moment 1 

Rod had followed on, of course, and everybody 
but Gilbert enjoyed that joke of his immensely ; 
but he picked himself up out of the blackberry- 
vines quite crestfallen and disappointed. He 
protested that they were not the right kind of 
girls at all if they were not afraid of cows ; and 


150 MARY ’n’ MARY 

then the two threw their arms around Mike's 
neck and kissed her, to prove it. 

“ But it was a shame not to invite her to my 
party ! She shall come now ! " Mary Mering- 
ton declared ; and they led her in on the lawn, 
and even persuaded the visitors to stroke her 
smooth little nose, and admire her big, soft eyes. 
So Mike was a spectator of all the gay doings, 
after that. 

The last game they played was one that 
mamma had invented herself. She called it 
‘‘ Birthday hide-and-seek," and it 
was a grand general hunt for 
Mary's birthday presents. 

They were anywhere, every- 
where, all over the place, — under 
the rose-bushes, behind the gar- 
den seats, up on top of the high, 
stone gate-posts, — in every sort of place, in fact, 
that mamma and Rod could think of. And when 
and how they had put them there was the greatest 
mystery of all. 

Each successful hunter announced his discovery 



THE BIRTHDAY PARTY I5I 

by a joyful shout; and when they found other 
names than Mary’s written on the dainty ribbon- 
tied parcels, the hunt grew still more merry and 
eager. 

When all the bundles had been collected in a 
large flat basket on the steps, there were some 
pretty souvenirs for each, besides the gifts that her 
cousins and guests had brought for Mary. 

It was the best fun of the day, they all said ; 
but while they were still examining, admiring, and 
discussing, they were called into the dining-room. 

And that birthday table! It made Mary 
Murray think of the fancies she used to have 
about the “ fairy little girl ” who lived in the 
great house ; for this was fairy food, surely. 
Never had she even dreamed of ice-cream shaped 
and colored like roses and water-lilies, or tiny 
cakes, frosted with pink and green and white, and 
trimmed with pearls and silver beads ! 

The ten birthday candles were pink and green 
and white, too, and so was everything on the 
dainty table, which mamma had made as beautiful 
as it could be for a grand, grown-up party. 


152 MARY ’n’ MARY 

After that they were all willing to play more 
quietly, on the wide, cool veranda ; and presently 
they were astonished to see the carriage come 
around to take the visitors 
to the station. The sun 
was getting low, and the 
lovely party must come to 
an end at last. 

They stood, the house 
party, on- the steps, waving 
and calling good-bys till the carriage was out of 
sight down the drive : then they sat down in a happy 
tired row on the lowest step, to “ talk it over,” 
which is another of the best things about a 
party. 

But soon Mary Murray grew uneasy : the 
real, every-day world, with its cares, was coming 
back to her, and she regretfully announced that 
she must get Mike, and go home. 

I think by this time they were all very nearly 
as sorry to lose her as Mary Merington her- 
self ; and even Elinor urged that it was not 
so very late. But Mary was firm (as usual), 



THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 1 53 

SO they all walked down to the gate to see her 
ofF. 

But it was rather later than usual, and Mike 
knew it. She was eager to go ; and when they 
untied her she pulled on the rope so hard, and 
danced around her little mistress *so wildly, that it 
was all Mary could do to hold her. So Rodney 
offered to lead her home, lest the ruffly gown 
should come to grief through her antics ; and 
they set off. Rod and the bossy revolving around 
Mary Murray, and the others watching them, 
laughing, till they were out of sight. 

Then Mary Merington and the twins turned 
slowly back toward the house, feeling that now 
the party was really over. 

They had nearly reached the steps, when Elinor 
said, suddenly, ‘‘ Where are your beads, Mary 
Did you take them off ” 

Poor Mary ! Her hands flew to her throat, 
and her eyes grew wide with fright. 

They were gone, — her precious beads, — 
dearest of all her birthday gifts ! 

She was too frightened to speak, and Elizabeth 


154 


MARY 'n’ MARY 


was ready to cry in sympathy; but Elinor was 
made of sterner stuff. “ They are down inside/’ 
she declared. “ Stand up and jump ! ” But this 
did not produce the beads. 

Then she almost choked Mary, feeling inside 
her collar for them; but no, — it was only too 
evident that the clasp had parted, 
and the beads were lying somewhere 
in the grass and leaves, — but 
where ? 

They ran back to the gate and 
hunted over every foot of the way 
to the house. Then they ran in to 
tell the mothers, who both came 
out at once to help them search. 

Nobody could remember when she had last 
seen the beads on Mary’s neck; and where had 
she not been, during all the afternoon games — 
especially that “ Birthday hide-and-seek ! ” She 
had poked her little nose into every flower and 
shrub, and been in and out of every nook and 
corner of the grounds. 

They comforted and reassured the poor child 



THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 


155 


all they could, and began the hunt. When Rod 
came back, he joined it with enthusiasm, and so 
did John and two of the maids. 

They searched until dark, but it was no use, 
and they had to give it up till morning. 


CHAPTER XV. 


FOUND WHERE ? 

Bright and early next day, when Mary Mur- 
ray came with her little egg basket, she found 
the children scattered over the lawn hunting 
in the grass, and the sad story was poured out 
to her by all four at once. 

Mary was almost as much distressed as the 
tearful little “ best friend.” She forgot eggs 
and breakfast at home and everything else, and 
devoted herself to the search with the others, 
until mamma came out to call them all in. 

“Now we are not going to hunt any more,” 
she said, with a comforting arm around her 
Mary. “ Those beads are going to be found, 
and we won’t give it up till they are ! but now 
we will just forget all about it, and have a good 
time while we are together.” And a little extra 
156 


FOUND WHERE ? 


157 


squeeze of the consoling arm made it clear to 
Mary that she must not let her guests be un- 
comfortable about her trouble while they stayed. 

The little girl responded bravely to the hint. 
They all had a gay breakfast together, and then 
the children went up to the pine grove (where 
they had not been the afternoon before), and no 
one could have told that the little hostess had 
not really forgotten. 

But when aunt and cousins were all gone to 
take the forenoon train for New York the beads 
came uppermost in her thoughts once more, and 
she and mamma went over 
the garden again together, 
very thoroughly. 

That afternoon Mary 
Murray came again and hunted with her, eagerly 
and anxiously. But not even her bright eyes 
could win in this last sad game of hide-and-seek, 
and Mary *n* Mary parted soberly at the bossy’s 
tree, each earnestly assuring the other that the 
beads would certainly be found to-morrow. 

It must have been two hours later, — it was 



158 MARY MARY 

growing dark, and Mary Merington was sitting 
with father and mother, very quiet and peaceful, 
on the veranda, while papa smoked his evening 
cigar, — when Mary Murray came running up 
the driveway at the top of her speed. 

They all turned to meet her in surprise, for 
she had never been there so late before ; and as 
she came up the steps it was plain that something 
very serious had brought her. 

The child was gasping so for breath that she 
could not answer when they spoke to her ; but 
she walked straight up to Mary and held out her 
hand. There lay the gold beads ! 

“ Oh, my beads ! you dear, — you dear ! Oh, 
I am so happy ! ” cried Mary Merington, de- 
lighted. She kissed and hugged her best friend 
and danced for joy, clasping the necklace to her 
breast. Where were they ? '' she demanded, 
eagerly. 

Mary Murray would not take the chair they 
offered her : her breath was coming back, but 
as the flush of running faded from her face it left 
it very white. She did not look so straight into 


FOUND WHERE ? 


159 

their eyes as usual, but kept her face turned a 
little aside, and seemed nervously impatient to 
be gone. 

To Mary's repeated question, she answered 
only, “ I found them," which sounded rather 
strange even to Mary, and the elders glanced at 
each other, as if to say, here was something to 
be explained. 

“ I found them," she repeated, stubbornly, and 
Mary Merington looked mystified and troubled. 
Why did not Mary Murray rejoice with her? 
And what was there to be so secret about? 

Then mamma spoke, very gently, for it was 
plain that the little girl was in a painfully wrought 
up state of feeling of some sort. 

“ What is the trouble, dear ? Why 
won't you tell us? Were they in the 
road ? " 

Then Mary did turn, and looked at 
her with Mary's own brave, honest 
eyes. ‘‘ I just found them : isn't that 
enough to tell ? " she asked, pleadingly, and her 
voice shook. 



i6o 


MARY 'n* MARY 


But mamma had not waited for the answer: 
she was staring at her as though frightened. 

“ Mary, Mary, child ! '' she cried out. What 
is the matter ? and then the others looked and 
saw it, too. 

Half across the averted cheek and temple was 
a great, bluish-purple mark, — a great, cruel 
bruise ! 

The tears rose instantly to Mary’s eyes as they 
exclaimed and gathered around her, and her chin 
twitched painfully ; but she shut her mouth 
tightly and shook her head in silence to all their 
questions. 

At last she said, “ Please let me go ! Please 
don’t make me say anything ! ” so piteously that 
they had to give it up and be content with thank- 
ing her. 

Mamma would have made her come in and 
have the ugly bruise bathed and tended, but 
Mary would not wait. Yes, she would bathe it 
herself, — with hot water, — yes, very hot; she 
would do anything they said, but she must go 
home ! 


FOUND WHERE? l6l 

And while they glanced at each other and 
hesitated whether to press her further, she ran 
down the steps and slipped away into the dusk. 

They talked it over sorrowfully, sitting there 
in the darkness, lit only by the glowing red tip 
of the cigar. 

The bruise and the beads belonged together: 
so much was certain. And Mary was either 
afraid or ashamed to tell how she came by either. 

It seemed to follow that the purple mark had 
not been caused by a fall or any accident — it 
was a blow: and on this point Mary Merington 
had no doubts whatever. 

It was that Larry ! I know it was Larry ! ” 
she declared, fiercely. “ Nobody else would be 
so unkind I But, oh dear, why does he treat her 
so ? Can’t we make him stop it ? ” 

Then papa spoke. (He had let his cigar go 
out.) 

When you chased Gilbert down to that place 
where the calf was tied,” he began, very slowly 
and thoughtfully, you climbed over the stone 
wall, you said, didn’t you ? And then through 


i 62 


MARY MARY 


the bushes into the road ? M-h-m. And then 
you came around by the road and through the 
gates home. That was about four o’clock ? Yes, 
— and about half an hour later, as I came up 
from the station, I passed this precious brother 
Larry on the road, walking 
toward home. Now I 
think we have got it 
straightened out.” 

“ Oh, I see ! I see ! ” 
cried Mary. “Larry found 
it, and Mary saw him have 
it and tried to make him 
give it to her, and he struck her; but she got it 
and ran here ! Oh, isnt Mary splendid ! But 
can’t we do something to Larry, papa, to make 
him stop ? ” 

Papa did not see how they could, without 
making more trouble for Mary. They had no 
case against him without her evidence. “ But 
I’d give something — something handsome,” he 
added, emphatically, “ to induce that young gen- 
tleman to leave this neighborhood.” 



FOUND WHERE? 


163 


“ That’s an idea, Robert ! ” mamma broke in. 
“ Do let us try it. Write to your brother, and 
find him a place in New York. Why didn’t we 
think of it while Adelaide was here ? ” 

‘‘ Gently, gently,” papa answered, laughing. 
‘‘We mustn’t go too fast ! If Brother Larry gets 
an idea how much we value his absence, he may 
put too high a price on it. But we’ll see what 
we can do.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE STORMY NIGHT 

Poor Mary Murray ! There were a good 
many things she did not tell her “ best friend ” 
in the days that followed. 

Life was not pleasant in the Murray house 
nowadays, and Baby Joe was the only person in 
it who found much to laugh at. 

There had been many violent 
quarrels lately between Larry 
and his father, about Larry’s 
habits, and the friends he brought 
to the house ; and these unhappy 
scenes kept them all stirred up and uneasy. 

And on the top of all had come the affair of 
the necklace, which made things worse yet ; for 
Larry bitterly resented his sister’s interference 
with his actions, and he neither forgave nor for- 

164 



THE STORMY NIGHT 1 65 

got. He had paid her the compliment of storm- 
ing at her quite as though she were his own age, 
and had finally flung himself out of the house 
swearing that she should repent her meddling. 
And Mary had no reason to disbelieve him. 

But it was not for herself she feared ; for 
worst of all had been the dark hint of some re- 
venge which was to fall, not on her, but on the 
friends she loved best. 

What did he mean If he should touch a 
hair of Mary Merington’s head! — Mary Mur- 
ray would wake and listen and tremble in the 
night. Her eyes grew big and her cheeks were 
getting thin with the strain of it. 

She saw very little of Larry. He was oflF 
with his friends for days and nights together; 
and indeed that was the pleasantest thing he did 
for his family in those days. 

Once Mary saw him on the street, and Dick 
Saunders was with him, or so she thought. Her 
heart went out to the cheery, friendly young 
fellow, and she longed to run to meet him. But 
two things held her back : she was afraid of 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


1 66 

Larry, and — how could she let Dick see that 
ugly mark on her temple, that faded out so 
slowly ? The child felt the disgrace of it almost 
as if she had been a woman. 

So she watched her kind friend from a distance, 
with a sore heart, and turned away without going 
nearer. 

Soon after this there was a heavy rain-storm in 
the night. The dull, steady drumming of the 
rain was like a lullaby to warm, comfortable folk, 
and up at the great house everybody was asleep 
and dreaming happily. 

Suddenly, in the middle of the night, came a 
wild peal of the front door-bell, — a long, frantic 
ringing that clattered through the house, up- 
stairs and down ! 

In a moment the whole 
place was astir. The electric 
lights flashed up everywhere ; 
Mary sprang up in her bed, 
only half-awake but wholly 
frightened, and screamed for her mother ; a door 
slammed somewhere with a crash of broken glass. 



THE STORMY NIGHT 167 

and the maids came running to the upper 
stairs. 

Papa Merington had turned on the lights in 
the halls, and pressed sharply the bell that rang 
in the stables. What happened next, poor little 
bewildered Mary had no idea: but through the 
dark dressing-room between she could hear con- 
fused noises and voices, either in her parents’ 
room or in the sitting-room, beyond. The 
maids were on the stairs, now, and Ellen, the nerv- 
ous one, was screaming wildly. Then Andrews, 
the coachman, came running through the lower 
hall from the back door, and rushed up-stairs, 
calling as he came to know where the fire was. 

In the midst of all the alarm and confusion 
Mary wondered (she was, perhaps, the only one 
who thought of it) who had rung the door-bell, 
and if any one were answering it. No one 
seemed to be. They were all collected, appar- 
ently, in the sitting-room, and all talking, or 
screaming, at once. 

At last mamma came, turning on the lights in 
the dressing-room and Mary’s chamber, and put 


l68 MARY ’n’ MARY 

her arms around the terrified child. “ It’s all 
over, dear, — there is no danger : they are all 
gone now,” she soothed and petted. 

“ Isn’t the house on fire ? ” quavered Mary. 

“No, dear, no; it wasn’t fire,” her mother 
said. And then, as gently as she could, she ex- 
plained that they had been awakened to find 
burglars in the next room, “mamma’s room,” as 
the children called it ; and that papa had caught 
and struggled with one of them, but could not 
hold him. He and the men were out-of-doors 
now, looking for traces of the thieves, and she 
had telephoned for the constable at South Berket. 

Then she put on Mary’s warm little wadded 
silk dressing-gown and slippers, and let her go in 
to see the havoc their 
night visitors had made ; 
for going to sleep again 
was out of the question, 
of course. 

The maids were all 
gathered in the sitting-room, gazing at the broken 
window and overturned furniture, and chattering 



THE STORMY NIGHT 


169 


hysterically. The coolest of them helped mamma 
to close the shutters, and hang a blanket before 
the broken sash : and then made up a fire in 
the grate. 

And then papa came hurrying up the stairs, 
with something in his arms that he brought in 
and set on the floor before the fire. 

It was Mary Murray ! And she was a for- 
lorn and astonishing spectacle ! Her head was 
bare ; her feet were bare ; she wore 
her red flannel petticoat, and her 
blue gingham frock was huddled 
around her shoulders in the manner 
of a shawl. And from head to 
foot, frock, petticoat, and hair,' she 
was soaked and drenched with 
rain ! 

“It was this child,” said papa, 
almost solemnly, “ who rang the bell I And 
she did it to warn us that the burglars were in 
the house. Now get brandy, and hot water, and 
see if you can save her from a fit of sickness.” 

They all fell upon her then. Never was a 



170 MARY ’n’ MARY 

reluctant little heroine so praised and pitied and 
exclaimed over and worried over ! 

It did more to bring the frightened women to 
their senses than anything else could have done ; 
and in a wonderfully short time they got her 
into a hot bath, and then into Mary Merington’s 
own little white bed, with a hot-water bottle at 
her feet, and something hotter still, and very dis- 
agreeable, to drink. 

She smiled at them gratefully and drowsily, 
for the hot things made her sleepy ; but for all 
their questions they got absolutely nothing out 
of her, — not even Mr. Barstow, the constable, 
when he came. He was a big, fierce-looking 
person, who thought the way to persuade in- 
formation out of people was to threaten little 
girls with bugaboos. He did not know Mary 
Murray ! 

“Well, it doesn't matter much: don't worry 
her any more now," said Papa Merington to 
him, aside. “You can see she is not in a condi- 
tion for it. We are sure of one, anyway. I 
know Larry Murray ; I got a good look at him. 


THE STORMY NIGHT 


I7I 

as he broke away from me and crashed through 
that window. Til swear to him, fast enough, and 
the rest are his chums, of course.” 

So at last they all went out and left her, in the 
dim, warm, fragrant room. And mamma took 
her own Mary into her own bed for what was 
left of the night. 

The hunt went on, out-of-doors, but it drew 
farther and farther away ; and the disturbed 
household subsided into quiet, to get what sleep 
it could. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


SPUNKY CHILD 


Mary Murray slept long and heavily. A 
dozen times, at least, before and after breakfast, 
Mary Merington tiptoed across her mother’s dress- 
ing-room, to peep through the 
half-closed door, and feast her 
eyes on the delightful vision of her 
beloved Mary asleep in her bed. 

At last her affectionate patience 
was rewarded, for the gray eyes 
met the brown eyes just as they 
opened, still full of dreams, in a vague, wondering 
stare. Mary Murray thought she must be dream- 
ing yet. This was not her little, sloping-walled 
bedroom, — and where was Baby Joe? Then it 
all came back to her, and she sat up quickly, and 

met the eager kiss with a dozen anxious questions ? 

172 



A SPUNKY CHILD ” 


173 


Mamma came in when she heard them talking, 
and then they had a funny time getting Mary Mur- 
ray dressed ; for she had not had half her clothes 
on, when she arrived. But the other Mary’s 
things all proved to be just right, excepting the 
ones that were a little too tight across the chest 
and shoulders. ‘‘ Anything that is a Mary ! ” 
said mamma, merrily ; and presently Mary ’n’ 
Mary looked like a pair of twins, dressed just 
alike except that one pretty linen frock was blue 
and the other gray. 

There must have been three Marys that morn- 
ing, instead of the usual two, for certainly there 
were two of Mary Murray. One of these 
moved in a pleasant daze, deeply enjoying the 
comfort and petting, and the novelty of ‘‘ going 
visiting ” in this unexpected fashion ; while the 
other one was not only hiding the trouble in her 
heart, but was also conscious of a dull, heavy, 
achey feeling in her head and limbs which sur- 
prised her greatly, — for Mary Murray had never 
been ill in her life. 

But the nervous strain she had been under for 


174 MARY MARY 

SO many days, capped by the shock and exposure 
of last night, had been too much for her. When 
they were ready to go down-stairs, she stood 
uncertainly for a moment, moving her feet slightly 
as though to keep her balance ; and then mamma 
saw, and sprang and caught her just in time, as 
she was falling. 

“What was it? What ails me?” she said, a 
moment later, in great surprise. “ I couldn't see 
things plain, and the floor wobbled up and 
down ! ” 

But she would not go back to bed, so they 
made her lie on the couch in mamma's room, 
where the fresh morning fire was glowing and 
purring (for the air was crisp after the storm) ; 
and then a dainty white tray appeared, with a 
dainty little breakfast 
on it; and Mary Mer- 
ington hovered over 
her like “ a hen with one chicken '' while she 
ate. 

But the sight of the nicely poached egg re- 
minded her of something. 



A “spunky child** 175 

“ Oh dear ! ** she said, distressfully, “ your 
father didn’t have his eggs for breakfast ! I never 
thought of them till this very minute.” 

“ Well, he had beefsteak,” said Mary Mering- 
ton, practically. “ Here he comes now. You 
aren’t hungry, are you, papa ? ” 

Papa assured them that he was not. He kissed 
both Marys, quite impartially, and then he picked 
up a magazine and settled himself in a big chair 
near the fire. 

It was necessary, of course, to find out all that 
Mary Murray could tell of the attempted rob- 
bery ; but papa and mamma had agreed that it 
was no use either to try to frighten her, as the 
constable had done, or to urge her into obsti- 
nacy. They remembered that Mary Murray was 
“ spunky.” So they decided to simply talk it 
over with her, and so lead her into telling them 
what she could, naturally and willingly. 

Accordingly, papa held up the magazine before 
him, and threw in a casual word or question now 
and then, while the others chatted quietly. 

Mary Murray suspected nothing of the little 


176 


MARY 'n' MARY 


plot. For all she knew, gentlemen who did not 
drive teams for Mr. McGowan made a practice of 
sitting in their wives' “ up-stairs parlors," reading 
magazines at ten o'clock in the morning. And 
she was quite ready to talk, on all points save 
one. There her spunk " came into play. 

The others assumed and referred to Larry's 
part in the affair quite as a matter of course, — 
an accepted fact, like the rain-storm. Starting on 
this basis, it was easy to gather, bit by bit, Mary's 
story of the night, — how she had been wakened 
by the slight noise of pebbles thrown against 
Larry's window, and, ready as she was nowadays 
to take alarm, had strained her ears in vain to 


catch the. whispering ; 
how she had knelt, 
shivering, at her own 
window, and seen them 
cross the wall, and start 
across lots in the direc- 
tion she feared. 



Then, not waiting to dress, she had slipped 
out and raced desperately up the lane and around 


A “spunky child” 


177 


by the road, knowing that the others must go 
slowly and cautiously through the pine grove and 
past the stables, and hoping to reach the house 
before them. Not seeing or hearing them at first, 
she believed she had succeeded, and rang the bell 
with all her force. But the instant alarm and 
confusion that followed, with the escape of the 
robbers from inside the house, had alarmed her 
in her turn ; and the searchers found her crouch- 
ing on the veranda, waiting for a chance tp steal 
away unseen. 

All this she told willingly enough, but when 
they touched, ever so gently, on the one important 
point, she “ went into her shell like a turtle,” as 
papa declared to himself. She would not say 
who was with Larry, or even how many, or 
whether she had seen their faces. In fact, she 
herself never mentioned even Larry*s name, hope- 
less as further concealment now was. 

She spoke her own sentiments freely enough, 
and expressed her indignation at the “ meanness ” 
of stealing from people who had never done any- 
thing bad to them^ quite from the standpoint 


178 MARY ’n* MARY 

of the sternest justice. And yet justice seemed 
not to have been in Mary Murray’s thoughts 
the night before. On the contrary, her motive 
appeared to have been mercy to all parties con- 
cerned. 

“ I thought,” she explained, that if I could 
just ring and ring, till you all woke up, before 
they got here, then when they found you were 
awake, they would go away again : and so you 
would be all right, and 
they would be all right, 
too, and you would 
never know who it was 
ringing. But I didn’t 
get here soon enough,” 
she added, sadly. ‘‘ But 
I ran as fast as I could.” 
She had, indeed, poor 
child ! But the men were already in the house 
when she reached it, so she was too late to save 
them from the crime, though still, with her 
obstinate reticence, she was striving to save them 
from the consequences of it. 



A SPUNKY CHILD '' 


179 


“ But I can't see for the life of me,” mused 
papa, in an undertone, to himself and the fire, 
‘‘ why she should be so anxious to shield that brute 
of a brother ! ” 

Just then he glanced up, and caught his 
daughter's eye fixed upon him. She had over- 
heard. The eye sparkled with a sudden inspira- 
tion, and her delicate little brows were puckered 
into a frown of awful intelligence as she silently 
beckoned him toward the door. 

He nodded assent, and in a twinkling they had 
slipped into the hall, and Mary was pulling him 
down by his coat lapels to whisper in his ear. 

“ Don't you see, papa, it isn't Larry she is 
trying to hide ? She knows that we know all 
about him^ now, and still she won't talk. It is 
somebody else ; and I know who ! ” 

Then she told him the story of Dick Saunders ; 
the part she knew and the part she had guessed, 
— which made pretty much the whole ; for 
though Mary Murray had been silent about the 
things that worried her, her friend's eyes and wits 
were sharpened both by her love for Mary herself. 


MARY MARY 


i8o 

and her own interest in “ our soldier/' So the 
things Mary Murray had not told, — the gradual 
stopping of her pleasant stories of his visits, the 
troubled frown when IVJary Merington asked 
questions, and one or two reluctant answers, — 
these hints had given the loving, clever little wits 
quite enough to go upon. 

Mary Merington, too, was grieved for Dick ; 
but while the other Mary's grief kept her silent, 
hers drove her straight to papa, with full faith that 
he would make it all right, 
somehow. 

‘^You won't do anything to 
Dick, will you, papa?" she 
begged. ‘^You see we are so, 
fond of him, and it would break 
both of our hearts." 

“ But she is breaking hers, al- 
ready," papa answered, gravely ; 
“ for she knows now that Dick is bad, and she 
knows, too, that she is doing wrong to conceal it. 
Don't you see, Marykin, that we can't let Mary 
Murray do wrong if we can help it, and we 



A ‘^SPUNKY child” l8l 

mustn’t let your soldier go on doing wrong, either 
— for her sake, and his sake, and for the sake of 
all the other people he might harm. And if we 
did we should be doing wrong, too, so I might 
say, for all our sakes. See, Marykin ? ” 

They were rather big ideas for ten years old, 
but Mary knew papa was always right, and she 
did her docile though half-tearful best to under- 
stand, and to assent to them. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


NOT MARY MURRAY, AT ALL ! 

However, poor Mary Murray had already 
been excited too much for her immediate good, 
and papa decided to follow up the new clue 
without plaguing the poor little thing any more 
just now.” 

So, later that morning, an officer from Berket 
went to the city and visited the whole- 
sale warehouse, where Dick Saunders 
was trying to make himself valuable 
to his employers. 

The officer returned to Berket dis- 
appointed, with scant satisfaction ; 
but his visit had an unexpected re- 
sult : for about ten minutes after 
the next train had stopped at the South Berket 
station, a mile away, an earnest and indignant 

182 



NOT MARY MURRAY, AT ALL ! 1 83 

\ 

young militiaman was pressing the bell which 
Mary Murray had rung so wildly a few hours 
before, and demanding to see Mr. Merington. 

That interview was much more satisfactory to 
both parties than the Berket policeman’s had 
been. It would have been hard to look in Dick 
Saunders’s honest, indignant eyes and disbelieve 
him ; and indeed Mr. Merington was very will- 
ing and glad to believe. 

‘‘ No, sir I ” Dick declared, ‘‘ I got sick of that 
gang and quit, a good while ago. I used to like 
Larry Murray, but I can’t stand the fellows he 
goes with now. If a fellow is trying to make 
something of himself, that sort of thing won’t do ! 
No, he didn’t come to see me in town. I don’t 
know where he went; but if he was with that 
crowd, I can guess, pretty well. He hasn’t been 
near me for a month.” 

So Mary Murray had been mistaken, and all 
her trouble and grief on his account had been for 
nothing ! 

No, not quite for nothing, I think ; for though 
Papa Merington knew nothing of that fancied 


184 


MARY 'n’ MARY 


glimpse of him which had confirmed Mary's 
fears, he knew the rest, through his own Mary’s 
help; and he told Dick Saunders the story, — 
how the child had tried to shield him, and had 
repelled and resisted the friends she loved best 
for his sake. 

And Dick's face flushed, and the smart in his 
eyes and the little hot feeling in his breast were 
the kind of feelings that do a boy good, though 
he doesn't know it. 

“Well, Mr. Saunders," said Papa Merington 
at last, shaking hands heartily, “ I am as glad as 
you are to have this cleared up ! I'm glad you 
came straight to me. Now I guess we can get 
the truth out of the child, when we've set her 
heart at rest on your account; and we'll put that 
chuckle-headed constable on a new track, if we 
haven't lost too much time. Now, would you 
like to see these staunch little friends of yours ? " 

And Dick blushed again, and said he would. 

Mary Murray was still there, for they had not 
felt willing yet to send her home, although she 
was feeling nearly all right again. 


NOT MARY MURRAY, AT ALL ! 185 

The joyful news which Papa Merington 
brought up-stairs completed her recovery, and 
Mary ’n’ Mary raced down to the library with 
shining eyes and eager voices to welcome “ our 
soldier.” 

When mamma came down, a little later, she 
found him sitting on the big leather sofa with a 
Mary on each side, pressing close and eager, and 
chattering as fast as their tongues would go, tell- 
ing the wonderful adventures of the night. He 
rose to meet her, looking a little embarrassed 
and shy ; and mamma 
shook hands and looked 
in his face, and liked 
him. 

As for Dick, he ad- 
mired her from that 
moment, in the worship- 
ping way that boys were 
wont to do. To him, 
as to Mary Murray, she was the ‘Hairy lady.” 

Then the children dragged him out-of-doors, 
to show him the places where everything had 



i86 


MARY 'n’ MARY 


happened ; and then up to the pine grove ; and 
then into the garden ; and then down to pay a 
visit to Mike. 

When he returned to the house to take leave, 
the afternoon tea-table was ready on the veranda ; 
and Mrs. Merington poured his tea, and then 
sat down beside him for a nice little quiet talk. 
And when at last he stepped on the train for the 
city, and looked back to see Mary ’n* Mary wav- 
ing their hands from the dog-cart till the train 
rounded the curve, the young fellow had a curious 
sense that things had somehow changed, and that 
life was a little different. 

It had been an eventful day for him as well as 
the children, and he had been through a good 
many changes of feeling since morning. 

Yes, life is different when one makes two such 
friends as Papa and Mamma Merington. 

It seemed a little different to the others, too, 

— to Mary Murray, back in her little, sloping 
bedroom ; for she had had that night and day, 

— it was not a dream! to Mary Merington, 
who cried when she went to bed, because, as she 


NOT MARY MURRAY, AT ALL ! 1 87 

told her mother, it seemed as though they had 
had Mary Murray and then had lost her again. 

After she was in bed she heard her father’s and 
mother’s voices, talking together earnestly for a 
long time ; and the low, steady murmur lulled 
her to sleep. But she did not catch their words, 
nor hear mamma say mournfully, “ No, I see it 
now; we have not been really kind. We were 
thinking most of our own child, and the benefit 
to her. It makes my heart ache to think what 
it will be to that poor child when we go back to 
town, and the house is 
closed, next month.” 

And again, “ I do want ' 
her, dreadfully, my dear; 
but of course they would 
never give her up, — one 
girl in a family of boys ! ” 

It seemed as though 
everybody’s thoughts were 
running in the same direc- 
tion. Next morning Mary was so long dressing 
that mamma went in to hurry her, and found her. 



i88 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


half-dressed, absorbed in rearranging her little 
bureau top. All her pretty new ivory things 
had been put together at one end, and she was 
now laying out the old ones to match, at the 
other end. To mamma’s surprised question, she 
explained, a little shyly, “ I am just ‘ making be- 
lieve,’ mamma, that Mary is my twin sister, like 
Elinor and Elizabeth, and lives here all the time. 
This is her end, and this is mine. Wouldn’t 
that be nice ! ” she ended, wistfully. 

“ Wouldn’t it be nice ! ” mamma repeated, with 
a rather uncertain smile. And then she hurried 
the little make-believer into her frock and down 
to breakfast. 

But Mary’s thoughts were not diverted from 
the new idea ; and when they were at the table 
she smiled at her mother, while papa read his 
letters, and murmured, “If we had Mary, 
mamma, she’d sit over there, and we’d have 
somebody on each side of the table. Wouldn’t 
that look nice ! ” 

Papa looked up from his letter. He gave a 
quick glance of surprise at Mary, and then raised 


KOT Mary Murray, at all ! 189 

his eyebrows at mamma. She shook her head 
and smiled. ‘‘ Purely spontaneous,” she said. 

Just at that moment a shadow fell across the 
sunny glass door of the breakfast-room, and they 
all looked toward it. 

TI\ere stood Mary Murray on the veranda, 
framed in the open sash. She wore a clean little 
print dress of faded green (with a bright stripe 
where the tuck had been let down), and the 
morning sun shone full on her curly mop of cop- 
per hair, turning it into ruddy gold. 

“ What a picture ! ” said papa under his breath ; 
but the best part of the picture was the eager, 
loving, happy smile that was brighter than the 
sunshine itself. * 

“ Oh, it’s Mary ! Come in, Mary ! ” they all 
said at once. And in she came, explaining anx- 
iously that she couldn’t bring the eggs earlier 
because Baby Joe had a new tooth coming. 

“ Bring Mary a chair, Mary, and let’s see how 
the table looks,” said papa, gravely, to his 
daughter; and she flew to obey. 

Then she beamed across the table at the make- 


190 MARY ’n' MARY 

believe twin, while papa chose the biggest peach 
from the beautiful old silver basket and peeled 
it for her. 

Mamma's sweet eyes were 
shining at papa with a smile of 
hope; and somehow, Mary 
Murray had never loved her 
so much as she did at that 
minute. 

“ Mary, Mary, Mary ! " went on papa, as if 
talking to himself. It’s Mary here and Mary 
there, and how is anybody to know which is 
which ? You will have to change your name, 
Mary Murray. I can’t change Mary kin’s : I’m 
too used to it.” 

Mary Merington tucked up the corners of her 
mouth, as she always did at papa’s funning ; but 
Mary Murray answered him quite seriously. 

“ I’ve got another name,” she said, with a 
sober, almost a sad, look ; only nobody ever 
calls me it now. My own mother used to call 
me ‘ Marigold,’ because my name was Mary 
Golden, then, you see : it wasn’t Murray.” 



NOT MARY MURRAY, AT ALL ! I9I 

Your own mother ? ” repeated papa, in aston- 
ishment; and at the same moment mamma cried 
out, “ Golden ? Mary 
Golden ? Child, who 
was your mother ? ” 

She started from her 
chair, and caught Mary 
Murray by the arm. 

She shook her a little, 
and laughed, with tears in her eyes. “ Are you 
Molly Burton’s baby? Aren’t you Mary Mur- 
ray at all? Tell me quick ! ” 



CHAPTER XIX. 


MOLLY burton's STORY 

But Mary Murray was too startled and con- 
fused to tell anything, at first. 

Mamma Merington sat down again and tried to 
calm herself; but she held Mary tight by both 
hands, while she questioned her. 

The story came slowly, with troubled pauses 
for recollection. The brown eyes gazed far away, 
as if trying to look back through the years of the 
sorry, wandering life, beside which the little old 
cottage in McGowan's Lane seemed a very peace- 
ful haven. 

Luke Golden was my father's name," she 
told them. “ My mother died that time we lived 
in New York. It was ever so long ago, — I was 
'most as little as Joe is. Then I stayed with the 
people down-stairs, till this mother came, and all 
the boys. Then we lived in other places, — a 

* 192 


MOLLY burton’s STORY 


193 


good many places, — and father would go off to 
work, and stay. And then, after a long time, he 
didn’t come back, — he had died, too, — and so 
we married this father we’ve got now, and came 
here to work for Mr. McGowan. That’s all, I 
think. But this father and mother are not my 
very own, you see, because I can remember my 
own mamma, — she called me Marigold, and I 
sat on her bed while she curled my hair,” she 
finished, with a wistful droop of the lips. 

There was silence for a little while then. 
Mamma put both arms around the child and 
held her close, while she pressed her cheek on 
the splendid, shining mop of curls, which that 
dead mother had loved and caressed, and for 
whose sake she had given her baby the playful, 
loving nickname. 

Molly’s baby ! ” she murmured at last, and * 
held her away to look at her with new eyes. 
‘‘Why didn’t I feel it? — why didn’t I know 
those eyes ? But the eyes are all you have of 
your mother, dear, except that brave, loving, 
wilful heart : that* s Molly Burton’s own ! Oh, 


194 MARY ’n' MARY 

Mary, you dear, dear child, you belong to me ! 
I promised your mother, years before you were 
born, that if she should die and leave you I 



would take you for my own. Why did she never 
let me know ^ ” 

But there mamma checked herself ; for she felt 
that she knew the reason, and it was best the 
daughter should not know. 

Mary Murray yielded to her caresses as though 


MOLLY burton’s STORY 


195 


she were in a dream, and g^zed at her with wide 
eyes, quite unable yet to take in this new wonder 
that had come to pass. But her heart was slowly 
filling with the sense of it, — they loved her, and 
she belonged to them, — that was all that she 
could comprehend at first, but it was enough to 
make her faint with happiness. 

Papa Merington was the first to notice how 
pale she grew, and to realize that the child was 
really dangerously overwrought. 

He looked about him for a safe diversion ; 
and it was not hard to find. He smiled drolly 
as he touched mamma’s shoulder 
and silently drew her attention to 
their own Mary. 

She had not moved since her 
mother’s first cry of amazement had 
startled her out of her chair. There 
she stood, with both hands clasped 
behind her, eyes and mouth both 
open, petrified with astonishment. 

Her wish was coming true with a suddenness that 
overwhelmed her. 



196 MARY MARY 

Papa Merington laughed out, and caught her 
up and pinched her cheeks, — to see, he said, 
whether she was alive or really turned into stone. 

They all laughed then, and the tension began 
to relax. Mary Merington found her tongue 
again, and in less than two minutes she had asked 
about forty questions, of her father, her mother, 
and Mary Murray. ‘‘ Mary-Marigold ” it began 
to be, now ; for every tongue tripped, between 
the new name and the old one. “ But we’d 
better begin at once and get used to it,” papa de- 
clared. It’s as bad as naming a new kitten, and 
we’ve got to practise. Marigold — Marigold ! ” 

They had not more than started to ask and 
answer the various questions that everybody was 
full of, when the maid came to say that the con- 
stable was in the library, and had something very 
important to say to Mr. Merington. (Even the 
maid looked disbelieving as she said it, and papa 
went off reluctantly, with a comical grimace). 

Then mamma took the two excited little girls 
up to her pleasant morning room, and there on 
the cosy big couch, with a Mary snuggling close 


MOLLY burton's STORY 


197 

on either side, she told them the story of Molly 
Burton. 

“We lived next door to each other,** mamma 
began, “ and excepting Mary ’n* Mary there 
never were two such inseparable little neighbors. 
And we were Mary *n’ Mary, too, though no one 
ever called us so, and we hardly knew ourselves 
what our real names were, for she was always 
Molly and I was May. 

There was a gap in the 
hedge between our homes, 
where we crept back and 
forth, and on each side 
of the hole was a big box, 
where each kept her dolls 
and dishes. They were 
our play-houses, and oh 
dear ! what good times we 
did have, down under that ragged old arbor-vitae 
hedge ! I never can smell arbor-vitae, even now, 
without seeing that little smooth, worn gap 
between the bare stems ; and on the other side is 
a little girl with smooth, dark hair and big brown 



198 MARY ’n’ MARY 

eyes, — like these! — sitting on the ground and 
nursing a great, stiff, old-fashioned doll, with 
painted, shiny black hair and eyes, and white kid 
hands and feet. 

“That doll was named for me, — Lauretta 
May she was, and mine was Molly Bell. 

“We used to plan what we would do when we 
grew up and married. We would always live 
next door to each other, and each was to have a 
little girl, and to name her for the other one. I 
did it, although I had lost my dear Molly long 
before that. But I never knew till this blessed 
day that Molly had kept her promise, too. Do 
you see, dear ? My Mary here was named after 
your own mother; andjvf?« were named for me ! ” 

Mary *n* Mary looked at each other as though 
this discovery must make some great difference 
in them; and Mary Murray, — no, Mary Golden, 
— put both her little arms around mamma's waist 
and hugged her, with a sigh of perfect bliss. 

“ When we grew up," mamma went on, more 
slowly now, “ the changes came, one by one. 

“ The Burtons moved to another house on 


MOLLY burton’s STORY I99 

another street. We thought our hearts were 
broken, but we got used to it. Then when I 
was sixteen I went to New York to go to school 
with my cousins ; and there I met papa. We 
were married on my nineteenth birthday, — Molly 
was my bridesmaid, — and after that for two 
years we were abroad. 

‘‘That was the time when it all happened, — 
when I lost Molly. She was married while I 
was in Italy. We did not even know it, until 
weeks after. He was a man I had never seen, 
and Molly herself had known him only a few 
weeks. It seemed as though she were bewitched, 
they all said afterward. 

“He took her West, at first. I had one or two 
letters from her, but I knew even while I read 
them, that I had lost her ; 
and presently even the 
letters stopped coming, 
after her mother died. And I could never find 
any trace of her again.” 

Mamma stopped. The story had grown too 
difficult : there was too much to be left out. She 



200 


MARY 'n’ MARY 


could not tell Molly’s child, watching eagerly for 
each word that seemed to bring the lost mother 
back to her, what manner of man her father had 
been, — how all the friends had distrusted him, 
and mourned over Molly’s blindness when she 
made her wilful, runaway marriage, — nor how 
he had dragged her through poverty and shiftless 
wanderings, till pride and sorrow and bitterness 
had all united to build a wall that shut her at last 
from the knowledge and almost from the remem- 
brance of her friends. Not from the faithful 
playmate, May’s, however. One of the saddest 
parts of the story which was left unfinished was 
the struggle to hold her friend, and the fruitless 
search for her when she had vanished, — a search 
which ended in despair in the hopeless wilderness 
of the great city. Only to-day had May learned 
whether Molly were living or dead. 

‘‘But we have got our Marigold at least!” 
said she, suddenly, breaking away from the sad 
thoughts, and interrupting the children’s happy 
chatter, “ and we’ll hold her fast, now we have 
found her 1 ” 


CHAPTER XX. 


REALLY TRULY TWINS 

They did not hold her much longer, though, 
that morning ; for Mary Golden was very much 
like Mary Murray, it seemed, and Mary Mur- 
ray’s sense of responsibility could not sleep very 
long. There was Mike to be attended to : and 
what would her mother think had become of her ? 

So off she went, though Papa Merington pre- 
tended that he was going to have the big iron 
gates locked, to keep her from running away. 
And the joyful, incoherent tale of wonder that 
she carried home made Mrs. Murray fear the 
child had had a sunstroke and was light-headed 
in consequence. 

Light-hearted she was, and light-footed, as she 
flew down the lane, after safely tethering Mike. 
What was to happen next she had no clear 


201 


202 


MARY ’n* MARY 


idea, nor did she trouble herself to guess. It was 
sure to be something beautiful, and this happiest 
summer of her life would be happier yet. 

Meanwhile, the story of her mother’s child- 
hood, and the way these dearest people on earth 
had claimed her for their own, made her walk in 


a happy trance, and al- 
most fear that it could 
not all be true. 



Behind her, at the 
big house, anxious and 


serious consultations were going on, — all about 


her ! 


We must have her,” mamma had declared, 
almost with tears of earnestness. ‘‘ I will give 
them anything on earth they ask for, if they will 
give her up. I have coveted her a long time, 
but I thought it would not be right to separate 
her from her people. But now, if they are not 
her kin at all, surely it can be managed ; for 
Molly Burton has not a relative living, — I am 
sure of that. Can’t we do something this very 


REALLY TRULY TWINS 


203 


Papa was less excited, but he was in earnest, 
too. Accordingly, that afternoon Mary 'n’ Mary 
were allowed as a special treat to go with Andrews 
in the dog-cart to West Berket, to get the pony 
shod, and when they were safely out of the way 
a very serious and important interview took place 
at the Murray house. 

There was not much difficulty about it, after 
all. 

“Well, sir,’* Mrs. Murray said, at the end, 
“it’s the truth I’ll be sorry to lose her: she’s 
a willing girl, and a good one to work as ever lived. 
But as you say, it’s not as though she were my 
own ; and I’d be sorry to stand in the way of her 
doing so well. And then, since Larry has cleared 
out, I declare, I feel as if the work was twice as 
easy*, — though it’s a shame to say so, poor lad ! ” 

But on the way home papa observed : “ The 
truth is, the absence of Brother Larry would be a 
compensation for almost any loss — though I 
suppose we can’t expect his mother to look at it 
that way. And the pleasantest feature of the 
affair is that we have got rid of him without 


204 MARY ’n’ MARY 

burdening our consciences by working him off 
on our relations. It will be a long time before 
he shows himself in this part of the country again. 
That burglary was a blessing in disguise ! ” 

It was a fact that Larry had “ cleared out.” 
So, too, had two of his most obnoxious friends ; 
and the utmost activity of the Berket police only 
succeeded in establishing the significant fact that 
none of the trio had been seen since that stormy 
night when Mary Murray rang the bell. And 
they never did learn anything more. 

But Mamma Merington was not interested in 
Larry’s movements now. She was full of amused 
indignation at the way Mrs. Murray had taken 
their proposal. She had expected to plead for 
Mary : instead, it had been almost a bargain. 

“ It seemed as if dish-washing and baby-tending 
were the only things to be considered,” she com- 
plained. “ Why, I really believe, with what we 
are going to do for her, she will think herself 
better off! — better off, without that dear child 
than with her ! ” 

“It makes it so much the easier for us. We 


REALLY TRULY TWINS 


205 


need feel no remorse at robbing the Murray 
family of their treasure/’ answered Papa Mer- 
ington. 

That is true/’ said 
his wife, more cheer- 
fully. And then she 
added, musingly, 

‘‘ How many things 
this discovery explains ! 

It has puzzled and 
troubled me, I confess, that Mary, impulsive and 
affectionate as she is, seemed to have so little 
natural feeling for her brothers. The tie always 
seemed to be very slight. She loves us, already, 
far better than she does them. She is very fond 
of the baby, to be sure, — the baby and the 
bossy ! ” she added, laughing. 

Well, yes, it looks at present,” assented papa, 
ruefully, ‘‘as if the principal difficulty will be 
parting Mary, not from the Murrays, but from 
Mike. That calf’s a cow, or pretty near it : her 
horns are positively dangerous, — and those chil- 
dren treat her like a baby in arms. I shall not 



!2o6 MARY ’n’ MARY 

be sorry, myself, to say good-by to Mike, — with 
the prospect that when next we see her she will 
be as big as her mother, and too 
old to tie blue ribbons on ! ” 
They both laughed ; and then 
as they strolled up the lane, arm 
in arm, they returned to the dis- 
cussion of their future plans. 

It had already been partly 
decided that the house should be closed early, 
this year, in order that the family might spend 
the beautiful weeks of September in the moun- 
tains, while the city house was being prepared for 
the winter. 

Now that the new plans for the new daughter 
must be taken into consideration, this arrangement 
seemed still more desirable. 

They would take Mary with them to the 
mountains, and the trip would serve to make the 
break between the old life and the new less abrupt, 
and give her time to become used to them before 
she was taken away from the old home altogether ; 
for much as she loved the new friends, it was not 



REALLY TRULY TWINS 207 

to be supposed that she could leave the old ones 
without feeling the parting. 

‘Of course Mary ’n’ Mary were wild with delight 
at the prospect of travelling together. 

They spent most of their time for many days 
beforehand in packing and repacking all their 
particular treasures, from bean-bags to flower-pots ; 
and thus happily employed they were quite 
unaware of all the fuss of formalities that was 
going on over Mary Murray’s unconscious head. 

There were consultations with lawyers, and 
visits to court and judge ; there were declarations 
to make, and papers to sign. But when mamma 
went to the city for these matters, she also bought 
and sent home many pretty and useful things for 
Mary-Marigold’s use and wear on the journey ; 
and these were all the children knew or thought 
about. 

At last it was the evening before the journey 
was to begin. Mary had said good-by to every- 
body in McGowan’s Lane; had cried a little at 
leaving “ the baby and the bossy ” for so long ; 
had charged Mrs. Murray and the boys with full 


2o8 


MARY ’n’ MARY 


instructions as to the care of Mike and the 
chickens in her absence ; and had finally been 
carried off by mamma her- 
self and Mary Merington, 
who came for her in the 
carriage. 

They took her up to 
Mary's room, where two 
little white beds were standing, side by side, and 
the low bureau top was again arranged according 
to Mary Merington’s ideas of twins. 

Then came the lovely twilight hour, just before 
little folks* bedtime, when they sat quietly on 
the western veranda, watching the rosy sky, and 
dreaming each her own dream. 

After awhile papa came out from the library 
with a handful of letters, and dropped one big, 
serious-looking, business envelope in mamma's 
lap. 

She caught it up with a little cry of pleasure. 
“ At last !’ Is it all done ? Certainly — sure ? " 
And then, ‘‘ Robert, I cannot wait another hour ! 
Why should we ? " 



REALLY TRULY TWINS 


209 


He nodded, smiling, leaving it to her. 

And then mamma took Marigold in her arms 
and kissed her tenderly and solemnly, and told 
her that the law had made her their own dear 
daughter, to love and keep forever. 

“Marigold” said not one word. She kissed 
and clung in silence. But Mary Merington 
threw herself upon them, and hugged them both, 
wildly and rapturously, crying, “ Oh, now she is 
my really, truly twin ! ” 

“Capital! We’ll make it twins, 
while we are about it ! ” said 
papa, laughing; but then he lifted 
the new twin in his arms, and 
kissed her very gravely. “ Do 
you think you can be happy with 
us, little daughter, — daughter 
Marigold ? ” he asked. 

“ H appy ! Oh, how 1 love you all 1 ” breathed 
Mary Golden Merington. 



THE END. 



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